The Midsummer Crown

EIGHTEEN

I awoke with a great start and sat up abruptly, unable for the moment to get my bearings.

I had been dreaming, not for the first time during this past week, of Eloise Gray. It had been an unusually vivid dream, but on this occasion she had been dressed as a boy, the guise in which I had originally known her. The clothes had not deceived me and I had been fully aware of her sex, in spite of the fact that I had addressed her on several occasions as ‘Davy’.

The dream faded as I stared about me, tense and anxious, trying to remember where I was, then slowly relaxing as the evnts of the past two days began to take shape in my mind. I was in a small, back chamber of the Rattlebones tavern, in Southwark, and I had been asleep since early that same morning.

I reckoned it was now late afternoon or early evening. There was a subtle difference in the light filtering between the cracks of the closed shutters, and a different rhythm to the sounds that ascended from the bowels of the inn. Moreover, I was feeling ravenous, hardly surprising as I must have slept throughout dinner and, possibly, even supper time — although in such a place food was probably to be had at any hour of the day or night.

Carefully, I swung my legs to the floor and stood up, flexing my arms. There was still some stiffness in my limbs and the various bruises decorating my person protested slightly, reminding me that my body had been seriously knocked about during my passage down the drain into the Thames. But the dizziness and nausea had passed, leaving me feeling considerably fitter than I had done, despite the dull ache that still nagged at the back of my head. Whoever had dealt me the blow, had used a force that had surely been intended to kill, or at least to render me unconscious long enough for the river to complete the job.

Which brought me to the question of who my assailant had been. Now that I knew about the Sisterhood, the so-called Daughters of Albion, and now that Rosina Copley was most likely one of them, it could have been her or indeed any of her three companions from the Boar’s Head. The four women had left the inn well in advance of me. They had failed to notice my presence, and so my sudden intrusion into the underground chamber of St Etheldreda’s Church must have come as a nasty shock for whoever was down there making preparations for. . For what? My mind balked at the answer and I found that I was shivering violently.

I sat down again on the edge of the bed, my arms wrapped around my body, and waited for the fit to pass. I had not recovered from my ordeal as well as I had thought and must therefore take things carefully. My first priority was food and ale, although I decided that I could also do with a wash: the rancid smell of Bertha’s hut still clung about me. My other desperate need was to relieve myself, but that was easily dealt with. I simply threw back the shutters, knelt up on a chest that stood beneath the window and peed into the courtyard below, a long, steady, golden stream that sparkled in the evening sunlight.

There was an indignant cry. Hastily adjusting my clothes, I leant out of the casement and found myself looking down into a pretty, dimpled face, at present marred by a furious scowl. The girl wore an apron over a grey homespun gown, and her abundant brown curls were partially covered by a triangle of white cloth, indicating her status as a serving-maid at the inn.

‘Just give a warning before you do that again,’ she hissed up at me. ‘I might’ve been drenched. As it is, you’ve splashed my skirt.’

I apologized profusely. It wouldn’t be too much to say I grovelled, and was rewarded beyond my deserts by the gradual lightening of her features into an impish grin.

‘You’re forgiven,’ she said after a while. ‘You’re that man who’s been asleep all day. Aren’t you hungry?’

‘Starving,’ I agreed. I hesitated, then asked, ‘If I come down to the ale room, is there a secluded corner where I can hide away, without being noticed too much by the other drinkers?’

She laughed. ‘Like that, is it? Oh well, you’ll be in good company. More’n half the people who come to the Bones don’ want t’ be noticed. Folk with prying noses aren’t encouraged round here. But if you like, I’ll bring victuals up to your room.’

I thanked her, but I was already heartily sick of the featureless little chamber and felt the need of company to banish the hideous images floating around in my brain.

‘I’ll be down immediately,’ I said, ‘if you’ll serve me.’

She gave me a provocative, upwards glance from beneath drooping lashes and swung her hips.

‘I daresay that can be managed,’ she said.

A few minutes later, having made myself as presentable as possible, I descended the stairs to find her waiting for me.

She jerked her head in the direction of the ale room. ‘Follow me. I know just the place where you won’t be seen.’

The place was crowded, but not a single head was lifted, nor one curious glance turned in my direction as I followed in the girl’s wake to a seat in one corner of the room. Nevertheless, I felt sure that my presence had been noted and was under discussion by everyone there, although I was unable to justify the feeling. The subdued laughter, the conversation might have related to any topic under the sun, but I was certain that they related to me. The air was charged with a suspicion deliberately masked and the atmosphere crackled with resentment. Then the landlord himself approached, according me a discreet bow, and the sensation immediately vanished. I had been accepted and was no longer seen as a threat.

The bench to which the girl had shown me was a high-backed settle placed along one wall and sheltered from the general view by just such another settle at right angles to it, the seat facing away from mine into the room at large and its back acting as a protective screen.

‘This secluded enough for you?’ my guide asked with a grin, and when I nodded, returning smile for smile, she again swung her hips invitingly. ‘The mutton’s good tonight,’ she offered. ‘It’ll put beef into you.’ She giggled self-consciously in the manner of one making a feeble joke.

I laughed dutifully and said I’d have the mutton and dumplings as well, if they had any. But most of all, I needed a mazer of ale.

‘And none of your small beer,’ I added. ‘The real stuff.’

She flounced a little at that and said the Bones never served anything else. While she went to fetch my order, I moved further into a corner of the settle and closed my eyes, still suffering from the effects of my recent ordeal. Not without some difficulty, I worked out that it must be late Saturday afternoon, and realized with a shock that the day after tomorrow would be Midsummer Eve, the feast of St Etheldreda. I had two days left in which to find Gideon Fitzalan and prevent the fate which I was beginning to feel certain lay in store for him. The seventh son of a seventh son, he was to be a sacrifice to the old pagan gods of tree and stone and stream and the hollow places of the earth.

It seemed ridiculous to think that such things could go on in the fifteenth century, under the very nose of the Church, but the old religion died hard and found its worshippers not just in the lost byways of the countryside, but also among dwellers of the city streets. I felt the panic begin to rise, but had enough sense to accept that I must wait a little longer until I was fully fit again, before forcing myself to confront the problem. Tomorrow, however, Sunday, I must leave the Rattlebones and make a present of my suspicions to someone in authority. The problem was, would I be believed?

The girl returned with a steaming bowl of mutton and dumplings and, even more welcome, my mazer of ale. But instead of going away once she had served me, she sat down beside me on the settle.

‘My name’s Bess,’ she announced. (It always is, unless it’s Jenny. The girls in these places never give you their real names. Sometimes I think they’ve forgotten them, themselves.) ‘I sleep in the attic and I’m alone up there at the moment. Apart from me, it’s all pot-boys here and they sleep down in the kitchens or the cellars.’ She tilted her head to one side and regarded me between lowered lashes. ‘If you fancy a tumble later, to help you sleep, there’s a stair just to the left of your doorway that’ll bring you straight up.’

Taken aback, I stumbled over my reply. ‘Th-thank you, my dear, b-but I. . I. .’

She laughed softly. ‘It’s all right. I ain’t forcing you. I’m just letting you know that if you come up, you won’t be turned away. It’s not an offer I make to everybody, so there won’t be any competition.’

With that she rose, treated me to a broad, salacious wink, wriggled her hips yet again and departed to attend to the needs of other customers.

As much shaken as amused by the invitation — and, if the truth be told, more than a little flattered — I addressed myself to the mutton and dumplings, which was indeed extremely good, and swallowed my ale. After that, my stomach comfortably distended, I leant my head back against the settle and allowed the warmth of the June evening to enfold me in its embrace. Gradually, the hum of conversation all around receded, fading away altogether as sleep intervened.

Once again, I awoke with a start and felt the same sense of disorientation as I had experienced earlier in the day. I realized that my neck was hurting because of my upright posture against the settle-back, and slowly stretched my arms and legs to help them regain some feeling. Once more the light had altered. It was now dusk and candles had been lit, but the ale room was as full as ever. No curfew obtained on the Southwark side of the river, and no one seemed in any hurry to seek the shelter of his own hearth.

I peered into my mazer, but it was empty. I was just debating the advisability of calling for a further pot when the settle at right angles to mine shook slightly as it was occupied. Almost at once, two female voices, raised to make themselves heard above the general hubbub, assailed my ears.

‘I’m glad you could come. Until the chapman mentioned your name, I had no idea you were in London. It’s good to see you again after all this time. Was it difficult to get away?’

The speaker was Audrey Owlgrave.

My thirst forgotten, I leant closer to the back of the other settle, pressing one ear to a gap between two of its boards.

‘Not at all,’ Rosina Copley answered. ‘I told her ladyship that I was going to visit my sister in Dowgate, and that I needed some air. I said the message you sent had come from Etheldreda. So why do you want to see me? You’ve left the Sisterhood!’ The accusation was flung like a knife.

I sat as though turned to stone, surprised that neither woman could hear my heart thumping against the wood.

‘I’ve not regretted it, if that’s what you’re hoping.’ Mistress Owlgrave was taken with a fit of coughing, but then resumed, ‘I don’t agree with. . with certain things you do. Indeed, I deplore them. You’ve always known that. But I still feel loyalty towards the Sisterhood and I shouldn’t want any of you to suffer the full penalty of the law for what you believe in. . for what you are about to do this Midsummer Eve.’

‘What do you mean?’ The nurse’s voice was sharp with fear. ‘Who knows?’

‘The chapman I mentioned just now. I gather the Duke of Gloucester called him in to investigate the murder and the boy’s disappearance. Where is the boy, by the way?’

Rosina snorted. ‘Never you mind. We have him safe. But tell me more about the chapman. He’s dangerous. He solved the problem of how Gregory Machin got into his room and bolted the door after he’d been stabbed. How do you know him?’

Audrey Owlgrave explained briefly the circumstances under which we’d met; an explanation that was met with a vicious curse, followed by a few minutes reflective silence.

‘Amphillis must have done that,’ Rosina muttered eventually. ‘I know she was going down to the chamber, after we all left the Boar’s Head, to make certain everything was ready for Monday night. Master Snooper must have surprised her and she hit him with something. But in Beelzebub’s name, why didn’t she make certain he was dead before she put him in the drain? A pity she didn’t have her scissors with her. She would have made as short work of him as she did of Gregory.’ There was another pause. ‘Where is he now, do you know?’

I thought for a moment that the other woman wasn’t going to answer, but then her newly revived loyalty to the Sisterhood forced a reply.

‘Here, in this inn. He’s not well. The near-drowning has left him in a weakened state. But I know he doesn’t intend staying here beyond the one night. Of that I feel certain.’

‘Where’s he sleeping?’

‘I don’t know. But the landlord’s a friend of mine. If I ask him, he’ll tell me.’

‘Good!’

‘What are you going to do?’

Rosina chuckled and my blood ran cold. ‘What you don’t know, Audrey my dear, can’t hurt you. But this time, when he goes in the river, he’ll stay there.’ Another lengthy silence ensued before the nurse suddenly demanded, ‘Why are you doing this? When you left the Sisterhood, you were adamant that you wanted no more to do with us.’

‘I told you. I don’t like the thought of you falling into the hands of the law. There’ll be no mercy for any of you. You’ll be burnt for witchcraft and murder. I’ve seen people burnt. It’s a terrible, agonizing death.’

Rosina appeared to consider this, but finally said, ‘No, there’s something more.’

The noise had reached fever pitch in the ale room as people made the most of the short time before, inevitably, the weary landlord came to drive them all out. I strained my ears to catch Mistress Owlgrave’s reply, should she give one.

She did.

‘Many years ago,’ she said, ‘I had a very dear friend, Eleanor Cobbolde. She was forced into a distasteful marriage by her parents with a man called William Blancheflower. He was chief kennel man to the Lovell family and took Nell away to live at their place near Oxford-’

‘You knew Nell?’ Rosina broke in excitedly. ‘So did I! After I went to live at Minster Lovell, when Gideon entered Sir Francis’s household, we became friends. Close friends. She confided in me all about her marriage and how she secretly hated that brute of a husband of hers. It was I,’ the nurse added proudly, ‘who told her how she could get rid of him and make it look like an accident. It would seem that after we left, to come to London, she took my advice, but somehow it all went wrong. I couldn’t understand it. I was heartbroken when I heard what had happened.’

Audrey Owlgrave snorted. ‘It was all the fault of that interfering chapman.’ And she gave her companion a brief version of the events which led to Mistress Blancheflower’s untimely death, adding, ‘The chapman told me all this himself, so I know it for the truth.’

I heard Rosina Copley draw in her breath, and when she spoke her tone was vicious. ‘Yet another reason to be rid of him then. I shall tell Amphillis to enjoy her work tonight. I must return to Baynard’s Castle at once. But first, go and ask the landlord where that bastard’s sleeping.’

I sat there wondering what to do. I had no hope of leaving the ale room unobserved: my height alone drew all eyes. Then I realized that it didn’t matter if the women saw me as long as I pretended to be unaware of them, and just as long as they didn’t realize that I had been close enough to overhear their conversation. So I stood up quietly and pushed my way between the benches and stools around that side of the room so that when I passed the two women on their settle, I appeared to be coming from an entirely different direction. I refrained, with the greatest difficulty, from glancing their way, and managed to stumble a little, suggesting I might be slightly drunk or still had a weakness in my limbs. I climbed the stairs to my chamber and turned to bolt the door.

There wasn’t one. Nor a lock nor a key. Horrified, I sat down on the edge of the bed to think.

I could, of course, simply lie in wait for my assassin. I should have no difficulty in overpowering Amphillis Hill if I hid myself behind the door. But the last thing I wanted was to alert the Sisterhood to the fact they were in danger of immediate discovery. Then, as Audrey had predicted, Gideon, wherever he was, would be murdered and his body disposed of without anyone being the wiser as to his fate. As for Amphillis herself, even if I handed her over to the authorities, she would no doubt wriggle out of any accusation I brought against her. Who would believe that this sweet little thing was a murderer? I could hardly believe it myself. She could so easily claim that I had lured her to my room with rape in mind, and it would be my word against hers. And the landlord of the Rattlebones would never come to my aid with a story of two women wanting to know where I was sleeping. Whatever happened at his inn, he was always going to be looking the other way.

There was only one thing to do and that was to return to Bertha’s, to let Amphillis find the room empty and the bird flown. But I jibbed at the thought of involving my old friend further in my affairs. Besides, I was bone weary and still not restored to full health and strength. I needed a soft bed for the night, not the hard floor of Bertha’s unsavoury hut. Then, suddenly, like a gift from heaven, I remembered Bess’s generous offer. No doubt she had something other than sleeping in mind, but I couldn’t help that.

I stood up and arranged one of the pillows as best I could in a humped shape beneath the bedclothes. I couldn’t really believe that it would fool anybody, but in the dark, and if Amphillis brought no light with her, it might just serve its purpose. I should know in the morning. Then I closed the shutters tightly, picked up my hat, tiptoed out of the room, carefully latching the door behind me, and mounted the stairs to the attics.

I opened my eyes to the early morning light and Bess’s face staring indignantly down into mine.

‘You went to sleep,’ she accused me. ‘You got into my bed and you went to sleep!’

‘I–I’m sorry,’ I apologized feebly. ‘I–I was tired.’

There was a furious silence. Then she burst out laughing. ‘So why did you come up here?’ she asked at last.

‘If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.’

‘I could try.’

I made no reply. I had suddenly realized to my horror that I was as naked as she was.

‘D-did I undress?’ I stuttered.

‘No,’ she admitted. ‘I did it for you. I hoped it might wake you up, but you were like one dead.’ She grimaced. ‘I’ve known a few men in my life, but never one like you.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said again.

I made to rise, but was forcefully pushed down again by two small, but determined hands.

‘Oh no!’ Bess said. ‘You don’t get away as easily as that!’

‘I’m a married man,’ I pleaded feebly as she knelt astride me, still pinning me to the mattress.

‘You all are,’ she retorted. ‘Or, at least, you all say you are.’

‘I really am,’ I told her desperately, but she just laughed and, leaning forward, kissed me full on the mouth.

It was a lingering, sensual kiss, and after such an invitation, I felt I should be a brute to disappoint her.

Well, what else could I have done?

Later — quite a while later in fact — noises of the household stirring and the landlord’s voice shouting up the stairs, ‘Bess! Bess! Where are you, you lazy whore?’ alerted us both to the fact that it was now some time since sun-up. We scrambled out of bed and into our clothes.

‘Come back tonight,’ she whispered, giving me a parting kiss.

I made no answer, but she was in too much of a hurry to notice my lack of reply.

When Bess had gone, I finished dressing in a more leisurely fashion, then, my heart thumping in anticipation, I descended the attic stairs to my own room, wondering uneasily what I should find.

The door was still closed. Cautiously, I unlatched and pushed it open, waiting for any tell-tale sound from within, but all was quiet. I stepped inside. The room was empty and there was hardly anywhere for anyone to hide. Even so, such was the irritation of my nerves, that I peered under the bed, behind its dust-laden and much torn curtains, and, finally, lifted the lid of the chest beneath the window. There was of course no one there. Had anyone come at all? Was it possible that Amphillis liked me sufficiently to have refused this murderous assignment?

Then I opened the shutters and turned my attention to the bedclothes and all such vainglorious thoughts went flying. The pillow had been pulled free of the blankets and ripped open from end to end (there were feathers everywhere, some beginning to stir again in the draught from the open casement). And lying beside it, just in case I failed to get the message, was a black-handled knife and a sprig of birch leaves.

I suddenly remembered Bertha and wondered if Amphillis, finding me missing, as she thought, from the Rattlebones, had gone to search for me there. I hadn’t actually heard Mistress Owlgrave mention Bertha’s name to Rosina Copley, but then I hadn’t by any means been privy to all their conversation, and it would be strange if Audrey had not explained how and where she met me.

The thought had no sooner entered my head than I was down the stairs and out of the inn, running for Bertha’s hut on Angel Wharf as though the Devil and all his cohorts were at my heels, bursting in on her and shouting her name. Just for one heart-stopping moment, I thought she wasn’t there; then what looked like a heap of old clothes, drying beside the dying embers of her fire, stirred and sat up.

Bertha regarded me indignantly.

‘Sweet Jesus, what’s the matter with you, lad? Frightened me out o’ my wits, you did! Come fer yer money, ’ave you? Yer purse is over in that corner, under them pile o’ rags.’ She dragged herself to her feet and, still grumbling, went to fetch it for me. As I attached it to my belt again, she inspected me grimly. ‘I can’t say ’as ’ow ye’re lookin’ much better fer yer night’s rest. Pale, an’ dark shadows under yer eyes. What you bin up to?’

So I told her, not about Bess, of course, but all the rest and warned her to be on her guard for a day or two, in case anyone thought she might be hiding me. She cursed herself roundly for confiding in Audrey Owlgrave and then cursed Audrey with a variety of colourful oaths, some of which were new even to me. Finally, she gave me a hug, a smacking kiss on one cheek and begged me to be careful.

I promised, adding, ‘Beware of Mistress Owlgrave, Bertha. I don’t think she’s ready to return to the Sisterhood quite yet, but it may be only a matter of time.’

An expression flitted across Bertha’s face that I had never seen before and she gave a little, secret smile.

‘Don’ you worry any more about ’er, my dear,’ she said. ‘I knows ’ow t’ deal with ’er. Where you goin’ now? Not back t’ Baynard’s Castle, I ’ope.’

I shook my head. ‘Not for the moment. I’m going first to Crosby’s Place to try to see the duke.’

‘Don’ forget it’s Sunday,’ she reminded me. ‘’E’ll no doubt be getting ready fer church.’

I had completely forgotten it was Sunday! So much had happened that the days of the week were getting muddled up in my mind

‘Then I must find Timothy Plummer,’ I said.

‘You any nearer discoverin’ where the boy is?’ Bertha asked, and yet again I shook my head.

‘No, but I’m hoping God will guide me.’ I gave her back hug for hug and told her once more to take care. And once more she gave me that secretive smile and said not to bother my head about it.

An hour or so later, having crossed the river and with the church bells clamouring in my ears, I strode up Bishop’s Gate Street Within and forced my way into Crosby’s Place. But neither the duke nor Timothy nor anyone of note was to be found.

‘Everyone’s gone to Paul’s Cross,’ a page informed me. ‘His Grace of Buckingham as well. A great procession it was, right through the city.’

‘Paul’s Cross? Why?’ I demanded.

The lad shrugged. ‘Someone said it’s because the mayor’s brother, Friar Shaa, is preaching a very important sermon there this morning.’

More than that he didn’t seem to know.

I swore silently. I had no option, however, but to follow.