Miriam Bibby - Mistress Meg 02 - Mistress Meg and the Silver Bell (13 page)

“I
heard,” she began, a little uncertainly, “from one of our - my
household - that is - ” She stumbled to a halt. She clearly lived nearby,
from her manner of speech, but she was no servant.

“Sit
down,” said Meg, in a kindly way. She poured out some wine.

“Thank
you,” said Amabilis Grasset. “Yes, I do wish to consult with
you.”

Early the
next day, Meg was on her way to collect a gown from a seamstress that lived not
far from the inn. She often bought and sold clothes as they travelled; it was
easier than carrying them and if they were of good enough quality, she could
always find a purchaser. She was thinking about the young woman who had come to
see her dressed in her maidservant’s clothes. A pitiful concoction of a
disguise, but probably the best she could summon up from her resources. She had
spoken evasively and Meg had needed all her skill to draw out what was in her
mind. Meg had guessed immediately of course, that a man would be involved. The
young woman, evidently wealthy, had readily bought one of Meg’s best perfumes.
She had not needed any convincing that this was a powerful talisman in itself.

As Meg
passed the entrance to a cooper’s yard, she heard a woman’s voice behind her,
speaking quietly but urgently. She turned and saw a woman, muffled up in a
kerchief, standing pressed against the wall just inside the entrance.

“Mistress,
” said Ruby, pleadingly. “I need your help.”

“Have
you been watching me?” said Meg, swiftly. She knew who it was,
immediately. She had seen Ruby at a distance and knew her description. Ruby
nodded. “Wait here. I’ll return soon.”

“I’ll
wait,” said Ruby.

When Meg
returned, she took Ruby’s arm.

“We’ll
not talk here, in the street,” said Meg. “Come with me to the
inn.” She felt Ruby’s arm stiffen in protest and then relax. At the Hart
and Hawthorn she led her up to her room. Ruby took off her kerchief and looked
at Meg.

“Sit
down,” said Meg. Ruby sat.

“I
need your help,” she said, simply. “You can help me - I know who you
are.”

“And I
know you, I believe,” said Meg.

“Moses
- he didn’t tell us about you, but ‘e’s your servant, ain’t he?”

There was a
slight hesitation before Meg replied.

“Yes,”
she said.

“I
don’t - have the sight,” said Ruby hesitantly. “But - sometimes, I
seem to see; and sometimes, y’can - read people; y’can - see their
nature.” She glanced at Meg for confirmation. Meg said nothing, but gave a
slight nod. “But - you’ve got the knowledge, y’can see, can’t ye?”
Ruby sounded almost anxious.

Meg let out
the breath she’d been holding.

“If
you have a question, ask it,” she said. Her voice was neutral.

“Well,”
said Ruby. “Ohhhhh…” She burst into tears and put her face into her
hands. The sobbing went on for some time but occasionally incoherent words came
out.

Meg poured
some wine and held it out to Ruby.

“Thank
ye.” Ruby sniffed and wiped her nose. She took a sip of wine, pensively.
“It’s the - hanging - y’see. Oh, Clink knows the risk. They all do. All of
us do. But - there comes a time when y’can see the rope, y’can almost feel
it.” She gulped and turned pale. “Clink’s in Marcaster Jail, held for
the taking of the pigman’s purse that he never even kept. He lost it when we
was caught in Guildern. And the pigman’s recognised him and he’s been taken up.
And if he isn’t hanged for that; well, there’s other things. There always is -
once they have you.”

Meg said
nothing for a while. Then she said, “You don’t know for a certainty that
he will hang.”

“Nooo,”
said Ruby. She sniffed again. “But - it’s just a feelin’ - this time. And
- it came to me that someone - might be able to help. Someone with power
…” She looked straight at Meg, pleadingly.

Meg looked
directly at Ruby for so long that it felt uncomfortable. But, Ruby thought, she
wasn’t really seeing Ruby; it was as though she saw something else.

“Ruby,”
she said, thoughtfully. “Rubies. Ah, I see it now … some … but not all
…” She might have said “Ruby’s”; Ruby wasn’t sure.

Eventually,
Meg seemed to come back into herself. She took Ruby’s hands briefly and smiled
at her. Then she poured them both some more wine.

“I
have no spell or charm to offer that will keep away the hangman’s halter,”
she said, almost briskly. “If justice …”

“Justice!”
said Ruby, sarcastically. “He didn’t even keep the goddamned purse!”

“No,”
said Meg, “but he took it; and the intention to keep it was clear. But -
the future is not fixed. There is no certainty that anyone will hang.”

“But
…” began Ruby, puzzled.

“Ruby,”
said Meg, “you have wit. Use it! Y’have everything that you need - you
need nothing from me but you will take something from me when you leave.”
She turned away and moved towards the casement.

Ruby
waited.

Meg said
almost to herself, “A pigman? In Marcaster on business, no doubt. It seems
to me, that a pigman needs must spend time in a pigsty. A lot of time.”

When she
turned round, Ruby was at the door holding the latch. She was smiling.

“Thank
ye!” she said.

After Ruby
left, Meg resumed her regular occupation of watching the street from the window
of her room. For a while she could still see Ruby’s pleading face and hear her
voice, but eventually her reverie was broken by a figure in the street below.
“Who is that?” she mused, half to herself. “That’s the second
time he’s passed by today.”

It was a
man who was evidently drawn in on himself, at least when he passed by in the
morning. She caught a glimpse of bowed shoulders and a heavy tread - for such a
thin man. As he walked quickly up the street away from her gaze, his back
seemed to be bearing a heavy burden. Then, later, when she saw him coming back,
he was transformed; he waved and nodded to acquaintances and his tread was
lighter. His whole body looked lighter, in fact. He didn’t seem to be in a
hurry any more and stopped to talk to someone for a few moments.

“I’ll
find out,” said Matthew, who had just come back with Cornelius, whose most
recent encounter with the stable cat had been very unsuccessful, at least from
the perspective of Cornelius. The big ginger tom who knew his territory so well
and had evaded Cornelius effortlessly, found it very satisfactory indeed.

“There’s
something else you can do,” said Meg, still looking down at the street.
“Go to the stable and see if you can discover something of the horse
belonging to Sir John Widderis. If anyone questions you, tell them we might
have need of some horses for hire. And - look well about you whilst you are
there. Tell me what you see.”

It was
several hours before Matthew returned and Meg waited until Cornelius had
welcomed him noisily and quietened down again and Matthew had eaten before
listening to what he had learned about the thin, anxious man that she had seen
from the casement.

“He’s
a well-known man, locally,” said Matthew. “Amiot Goldspink. Has some
knowledge of the law, it seems and has served the town well. Once I knew who he
was, I made some further enquiries, hinting that I - that you - might have
business to conduct. He has a sound reputation amongst his countrymen and was
recommended. So I found out where his home is. I saw him leaving that home and
followed him, in a casual fashion …”

“Continue,”
said Meg.

“He
ended at the house of one Zacharias Kane, a goldsmith, who, it appears, is
responsible for the making of a bell for the winner of the forthcoming match
…”

“A
goldsmith who does not have a shop in the centre of Marcaster?”
interrupted Meg, surprised. Goldsmiths were expected to work and keep shop in
commercial parts of towns.

“It
appears this Kane is not only a goldsmith, but the only goldsmith as far as
Marcaster is concerned,” said Matthew, “at the present time, at any
rate. There have been others, but they either died or moved elsewhere. A
shortage of suitable property, or perhaps property to his liking, has kept him
in the place of his father’s former smithy, which, truth to tell, is not so very
far from the centre of Marcaster, although it is somewhat secluded. It abuts
some common ground and a plantation for timber that is used by local trades. On
fair days, he sets up a stall under license in Marcaster where he does well.
Other than that, he knows his clients and they often go to his house, which
serves as his workshop and shop. His reputation, too, is good. All his work is
dispensed with the approval of his company, I believe; he is - untarnished - in
any way.”

Meg smiled
at his jest and then was thoughtful again. “Does he keep any
apprentices?” she asked. Matthew shook his head.

“No.
The Goldsmiths’ Company is currently oversubscribed, it appears and that is
probably in part why Kane remains the only goldsmith in Marcaster. Lack of
apprentices; and better trade elsewhere that draws the master smiths. That’s
what drew his last journeyman away. There’s little scope for the trade
hereabouts and Kane supplies all that’s needful. Farming folk round here are -
canny? Is that the word?”

Meg nodded.

” -
and keep their gold under their beds, mostly.”

“How
did this Goldspink appear to you?” asked Meg.

Matthew
thought momentarily. “Burdened. As though he was carrying something
burdensome.”

“Yes,
that’s how he was, seemingly, when I first saw him. And when he left the
goldsmith’s?”

“Possibly
a little less burdened, but I’d describe him as a man who was troubled in
spirit. A man in need of one of your finest - and more expensive -
remedies.”

Meg
inclined her head in mock thanks. “Y’remind me that I have need of some
ingredients, which, by fortune, I can obtain whilst we are here. I must
correspond with a merchant in Hull who has proved not only to be a source of
goods of the highest quality, but also a discreet and reliable friend.”

“Ingredients
- including myrrh?” asked Matthew with interest.

“Yes,
I have need of myrrh, certainly. I know that it is your favourite. And one of
mine.”

“It is
- the breath of mystery that it carries.”

Meg nodded
agreement. “According to an ancient belief, myrrh is formed of the tears
of the moon, whilst frankincense is obtained from those of the sun. Myrrh holds
many mysteries. And it is at the heart of many remedies. Many of
my
remedies.
Now, tell me about the horses.”

“The
horse belonging to Sir John Widderis is kept towards the back of our inn stable
here and well guarded by Sir John’s men,” said Matthew. “Three of
‘em. But from what I saw - and heard - he is a horse that is somewhat fearful
by nature and starts easily at an unexpected sight or noise. He is a big horse
and likes to gallop with his nose to the stars - they say. He will be ridden by
Philip Widderis, son of Sir John; and they also say that if he had any other
rider, he would be likely to gallop with his nose to the stars in all
directions but the correct one.”

“And
how does he like the company of an inn stable?”

Matthew
shrugged. “He finds himself amongst a few nags and carters; and one or two
quality mounts. There’s a black horse there next to The Fly that’s most likely
with Sir John’s servants. A quality horse. And a fine grey, might be theirs as
well. Also a good light bay, not unlike Bayard, with a long mane, but dark
where his is light.”

“When
not dyed,” said Meg mischievously. “And Sir Richard’s horse?”

“I
thought you would ask and so I called in at the Blue Boar. A decent brew; but
not as good as they serve here, I’d say. And I was not quite so welcome at the
stable as I was here in our own. In truth - ” Matthew frowned. ” - I
believe that one of our acquaintance might have a place there.”

“Let
me guess. From your face, I would say, one Jostler, also known as the
Jingler.”