The Vanishing Witch (52 page)

Catlin gnawed at her lip. ‘If anyone’s afraid, it’s me not her. You saw what she did to Beata.’

Edward stared at her. ‘I thought you’d had a hand . . .’

‘We both know Beata had to go, but I’d almost succeeded in persuading Robert to dismiss her. After she dashed the wine from his hand, he was already on the verge of it. It would only
have taken one more incident and that was easily arranged. But Leonia . . . Beata was terrified of her in the end, and I’m starting to believe she had good reason.’

‘Beata was mad,’ Edward said. ‘The mad howl at the moon and scream at the sight of water.’ He leaned over and kissed Catlin. ‘I can handle Leonia, little Maman, don’t you worry. All that matters is that she stays safe and well until
Robert is dead. And the point is, little Maman, when will that be? My dear stepfather looks as healthy as any man of his age, far too healthy. I warn you, I will not wait for my inheritance until that lecher’s in his dotage.’

‘This cannot be rushed, Edward. If he should fall sick so soon after his wife, then people will begin to remember what Jan said. If he’d met his death in London, no one
would have questioned it, but now that he’s back, I must work softly. But there’s something far more urgent we must attend to first. Robert was on the verge of having you thrown out of this city after your stupidity in allowing that cloth to be stolen. He was even convinced you were in the pay of the gang of thieves. You know how he’s been ever since the uprising. If he sees two birds sitting together
on the thatch he’s convinced they’re plotting against him. Your threat to spread abroad that tale of
St Jude
didn’t help. When will you learn that challenging men like Robert only makes them more intransigent? It took all my powers of persuasion, which are not inconsiderable, to stop him dragging you straight to Sheriff Thomas. If so much as a bent nail goes missing from another cargo, which it
is bound to unless the thieves are caught, you will find yourself banished from Lincoln or, worse, on trial for your life.’

Edward scowled. ‘Those bastards made me look like a fool. And thanks to them I was forced to spend half the night with Thomas’s men on those hellish marshes, almost getting myself drowned, not to mention being eaten to death by midges the size of kestrels.’ The mere memory
of it made him scratch vigorously at his arms and neck. ‘And after all that, the thieves didn’t appear. Never mind conspiring with them, if I could lay my hands on them, I’d rip off their arms and shove them up their arses.’

Catlin gave an exasperated sigh. ‘As it stands, Robert is bound to leave the bulk of his estate to Adam, not least to prevent you inheriting it if it should come to me. Naturally
I could milk the business dry before Adam comes of age, but that would be tedious and it would leave the business in ruins, which means we’d get no more out of it. It would be much simpler if Robert were to make you his heir.’

‘He’s hardly likely to do that. You just said he’d gladly have me whipped out of town or better still hanged by the heels.’ Edward plucked at his clothes, screwing up his
face as if he was picking up a used arse-rag. ‘Look at me! I’m dressed like a scabby serf and see what he gives me to ride! A nag that can barely stand upright on its own legs. The wages he pays barely leave me enough to place a single bet on a fighting cock at the pits. I won’t stomach this for much longer. I insist you get rid of him now!’

Catlin turned her face fully towards him and met his
gaze steadily. The words she spoke next were uttered so quietly that afterwards Edward wondered if he had misheard them.

‘Take care, Edward, take very great care. I am mistress of more than just Robert’s house. We both know what I can command. Don’t presume too much, or you will lose all.’ Catlin’s palfrey moved restlessly in the heat and she tugged at the reins, so sharply the mare whinnied
in protest. The expression in Catlin’s eyes was so chilling that Edward felt a shudder of fear. She had never spoken like that to him before. Something had changed.

But the next moment she was smiling sweetly, as if the conversation had never taken place. ‘Edward, can you not see? If you were to deliver the thieves to Robert, not only would it clear you of any suspicion of involvement, but it
would make him trust you like a son.’

Edward, still reeling, gaped at her. ‘What? . . . And just how am I to do that? I told you, the thieves never came back that night. I have no idea who they are.’

‘No, but the boatmen do or, at least, they have their suspicions. Diot heard something interesting yesterday when she went to Butwerk, concerning a certain boatman and his son. She told me she’d
learned it in the marketplace, of course. One of these days I’ll make her regret trying to deceive me, but I let her think her secret is safe for now. The snippets she brings me are useful.’

Catlin pointed with her riding whip. ‘I believe the cottage we seek lies just round that bend.’

‘The thief lives there?’ Edward’s eyes were bright with excitement.

‘Not there, but in that cottage we’ll
learn what we need to know.’ She glanced up at the sun. ‘The menfolk will not be returning home for some hours yet.’ She flicked her whip lightly across Edward’s hand. ‘Let me lead the conversation when we’re in there. If you go in threatening in your usual fashion, we’ll learn nothing. It takes sweet honey to draw out a splinter, not a knife.’

Catlin squeezed her palfrey’s flanks. Her skirts
brushed Edward’s leg as she trotted past, leading the way down the track. The sweat was crawling down his face. His shirt was sticking unpleasantly to his back. He was overdressed for the heat. The high collar of his cotehardie chafed unpleasantly against his chin, and he was sure he was getting the first itchings of a heat-rash.

He watched Catlin’s trim figure swaying gracefully in front of
him, as her palfrey trotted along the path ahead. She looked as cool as if she had just emerged from the river, clad in a dark moss-green gown with a russet surcoat over it. Her long dark hair nestled on the back of her neck, caught up in the gold net caul beneath a round hat embroidered with unicorns. It was said that unicorns would lay their heads in a virgin’s lap. Catlin was certainly no virgin,
but she could persuade any man she pleased to lay his head in her lap. The thought of that lard-lump, Robert, doing so made him want to kill them both.

Catlin treated him as a child and expected him meekly to take whatever humiliations Robert handed out, as if he were a servant.
Be patient. Be quiet
. Well, his patience was fast running out. If she didn’t act soon, he would act for her, and Robert
would be lying in that graveyard alongside his wife and both his idiot sons before the month was out. It was high time, thought Edward, that he showed Catlin he could be just as ruthless as she was. Perhaps that would make her treat him with respect.

Edward brought down his whip sharply on his horse’s flank. She leaped forward, but almost at once slowed to a leisurely amble. Edward cursed. It
seemed to him the nag was walking even more slowly than usual to prove that she had no intention of behaving as frivolously as the young palfrey in front. He kicked her viciously, but only succeeded in making her skip sideways, coming perilously close to plunging them both into the river. He daren’t risk the whip again and was forced to let her walk at her own pace, which did nothing to improve his
mood.

When he finally caught up with Catlin, she was sitting astride her mount in the shade a little way from a cottage on the riverbank. As soon as he approached, she swung her leg gracefully over its back and dismounted. She handed him her reins and walked down the track towards the cottage. Edward was left to tether both horses in the cool of the trees, then hasten after her.

The cottage
door was shut, an unusual sight at most times, but especially so in this heat. A small boy was squatting in front of it, firing stones from a sling at some invisible target in the reeds. As soon as he caught sight of them, the child scrambled up and fled. Catlin rapped on the door and stood back. A woman opened it a crack, peering out. Her face was flushed and her lank hair was escaping in greasy
strands from beneath a linen cap.

‘A fine day to you, goodwife. I’m Mistress Catlin, wife to Robert of Bassingham who owns this cottage. Your husband is Master Gunter, is he not? And you must be his wife, Nonie?’

The woman gave a clumsy bob behind the door. Her expression was one of undisguised fear. ‘My man isn’t here. He’s out on the punt . . . won’t be back for hours yet.’

‘No matter. It’s
the cottage we’ve come to see. This is my son and Master Robert’s new steward, Master Edward. He must make an inspection of the cottage.’

‘Are we to be evicted?’ Nonie’s fear had evidently turned to sheer panic. ‘Please, I’ve bairns to take care of! We’ve paid the rent. I know it was late. Gunter couldn’t find the work and what with the poll tax . . . but next time, I swear—’

‘Calm yourself,
Goodwife Nonie.’ Catlin smiled reassuringly. ‘There’s been no talk of eviction. But Master Edward must ensure that you’re keeping the cottage in good order as you are required to and not letting it fall into disrepair.’

Nonie appeared far from reassured. ‘But Master Jan inspected it only a few months ago.’

‘Master Jan is dead and the new steward must see it for himself. Otherwise how will he
know if its condition has got worse next year?’

‘My bairn’s sick,’ Nonie said desperately. ‘A fever . . . a contagion . . . you might catch it.’

‘I heard talk in the marketplace of an
accident
that had befallen your boy,’ Catlin said. ‘That cannot be catching, surely.’

With obvious reluctance, Nonie opened the door, stepping aside to let Edward and Catlin enter. She made to close it again,
but the heat and stench of the room were suffocating and Edward shot out his hand to stop her. ‘Leave it open,’ he said, flinging it wide. ‘I need the light to make my inspection.’

In truth, there was so little to inspect in the cottage that a single glance might have been considered over-diligent. The furnishings consisted of nothing more than two narrow beds crammed against either wall and
a rickety table newly cobbled together from assorted pieces of old wood fished from the river. Besides the woman, the only other occupants of the cottage were a thin, pale girl in the corner, about Leonia’s age. At the sight of them she shrank onto her haunches on the beaten-earth floor, wrapping her arms tightly about herself and buried her face in her knees.

A second child, a boy, lay on his
stomach on one of the beds. His face was scarlet from the heat and beaded with sweat. A cloth covered his back, through which a greenish-brown stain oozed. Much of the foul stench in the room seemed to be coming from him. Nonie’s eyes darted frantically from one to the other of her children, as if she did not know which to protect.

This is a complete waste of time, Edward thought irritably. It
was as plain as a priest’s tonsure that this woman’s husband wasn’t receiving a share of any stolen cargoes. By the look of it, he was not even being paid a few coins to turn his face to the wall. But Catlin didn’t seem in the least discouraged.

‘How did your son come to be hurt?’ she asked, in a tone of seeming genuine concern.

‘Boat . . . cargo when he was loading,’ Nonie said, without looking
at her. ‘Fell . . . caught his back.’

‘Poor mite.’ Catlin’s brow furrowed in motherly sympathy. ‘I hear there’ve been a number of accidents with cargoes. Many lost overboard or damaged.’

‘My Gunter never loses any cargoes,’ Nonie said indignantly, ‘and he’s never damaged one, not in the whole time he’s been punting, ever since he was a lad.’

‘Except the one that hit your son,’ Catlin said.

Nonie looked flustered. ‘Cargo wasn’t damaged . . . just my Hankin.’

‘Then he was a brave lad to try to save the cargo,’ Catlin said. ‘Master Robert will be most impressed to hear that. But I hear other boatmen are not so careful, are they? I expect Gunter has a few things to say about them.’

Nonie bit her lip. ‘He doesn’t like carelessness, but he wouldn’t speak ill of any, Gunter wouldn’t.’

‘A good, honest man, I’m sure.’

Hankin moaned as he shifted his leg, trying to get more comfortable.

‘His wound looks bad,’ Catlin said. ‘Let me look. If I tell my apothecary what the wound needs, I can have him prepare something to help.’

She took a pace to the bed, but Nonie sprang between them. ‘Don’t trouble yourself, mistress. It’s no sight for a gentlewoman. There’s a woman lives in Butwerk
is good with herbs. Everyone in these parts goes to her. She’s giving him what he needs.’

‘I insist. The boy’s in pain and the apothecary will have physic far more powerful than any cunning woman can brew from a few leaves. My husband would never forgive me if he learned I had left one of his tenants to suffer, especially one who risked his life to save his cargo.’

Thrusting Nonie firmly aside,
Catlin peeled the cloth from the boy’s skin. A deep gash ran across the small of his back, the wound gaping wide as a mouth. Its blackened lips had not been pulled together with stitches to help it heal and she could at once see why. The raw flesh inside was charred and all around the wound were a hundred tiny burns.

Hankin cried out in pain as the wound was exposed to the air. Catlin quickly
laid the ointment-soaked cloth back in place.

‘The cargo seems to have been remarkably hot,’ she said quietly. ‘Was it burning when it fell?’

Nonie cast a look of despair at her daughter, but the child did not look up. ‘Gunter burned the wound . . . with a hot knife . . . so it wouldn’t fester.’

‘Then I must certainly get the boy something that will soothe the pain of it and help it heal. We’ll
soon have him back on his feet. I imagine your husband will be glad of that. He must find it harder than ever to find work without the boy to help, and with rent being due soon . . .’

Tears sprang into Nonie’s eyes and she began to sob. Catlin caught her arm and gently guided her to the other bed, sitting down next to her.

‘While Master Edward inspects the roof and the outside of the cottage,
why don’t we have a little talk, woman to woman? So much easier when there are no men around, with all their high-minded principles. They haven’t the least idea what it takes to keep children clothed and fed, do they? My poor husband died the very hour my little daughter was born and I was left to raise her . . .’