Authors: Alys Clare
It appears, he told himself, that we have found our link . . .
I must visit the home of this Martin Kelsey, Josse decided, and find out, if there is anybody there who can tell me, where he went and whom he met, particularly after his return home. ‘Thank you, Master Morton,’ he began, already impatient to be off, ‘I shall—’
But the apothecary was frowning and did not seem to hear. ‘There was something odd about young Nicol when he returned from France,’ he said slowly.
‘Odd?’ Josse was instantly on the alert. ‘But he was sickening with the disease. Would that not make a man seem odd?’
‘No, it wasn’t that.’ Adam Morton rubbed a hand across his jaw. ‘I’d say it was more that the lad was afraid. And it wasn’t the threat of the sickness that scared him, sir – er, sir knight, for he was acting in a strange way before he fell ill.’
‘What was he doing?’
‘He seemed to think that somebody was after him,’ Adam Morton said slowly. ‘He kept opening the door and peering out and one evening when I told him to deliver a basketful of simples to some of my customers, it was all I could do to get him out of the house. Then he came scurrying back in double-quick time, bolted the door behind him and raced up to his room where he shut himself in and wouldn’t come out till morning.’
‘To what did you ascribe this peculiar behaviour?’ Josse asked.
The apothecary smiled thinly. ‘I thought perhaps he’d involved himself with some young lass and that her father was after him with a horse whip.’
‘Was that likely?’
‘Oh, yes. Nicol was a well-favoured lad and he had the girls queuing up.’
The apothecary bowed his head, but not before Josse had caught the expression on his face. Gervase, I wish you could witness this, he thought; for, at long last, Adam Morton was acting like a human being and grieving for the young man whose life had been so suddenly and so violently ended.
‘You have been very helpful, Master Morton,’ Josse said gently. ‘I do not think it was any enraged father who was looking for Nicol; I think it was the man who killed him. And I shall do my best to track him down and bring him to justice.’
Adam Morton raised his head. ‘Do that, sir knight,’ he said. ‘I shall dance at his hanging.’
Such was his fervour to follow this new and promising lead that for a moment Josse considered setting out for Hastings there and then. But he soon changed his mind; for many reasons, only a fool willingly rode through the night and Josse was not a fool, even if Adam Pinchsniff had called him one.
He rode instead to New Winnowlands, where he was fed by Ella and brought up to date by Will with the few noteworthy things that had happened in his absence. Will took the cob away to restore the animal as best he could for the next day and, quite soon, Josse retired to bed and slept dreamlessly until the early morning. Soon after the sun had risen, he was on his way to Hastings.
He made good time, for the tracks and roads were hard with frost and the cob was frisky. Reaching Hastings around midday, he made his way through steep and narrow streets to the port, where he found a tavern, took a mug of beer and enquired after Master Martin Kelsey. He managed to feign surprise on being told that the merchant had died a week ago and, explaining that he would like to pay his respects to Kelsey’s family, asked for directions to the merchant’s house.
A burly, dark-haired man standing beside him gave a snort. ‘If you’re expecting victuals and a mug of good wine in exchange for your sympathy, you’ll be disappointed,’ he said. ‘Majorane Kelsey keeps her larder locked up tight as a cat’s arse.’
The tavern keeper shook his head at the irreverence but Josse noticed that he was grinning. ‘Martin’s widow is not popular?’ Josse said, keeping his voice down.
‘Majorane’s his sister; she ain’t nobody’s widow,’ the dark man said. ‘No man with eyes and wits in his head would have her, not unless he were intent on increasing his sufferings here on earth.’
‘I see.’ Josse stored the remark for future reference. Finishing his ale – which was very good – he thanked the two men for the information, bid them good day and set off to find the merchant’s house.
Martin Kelsey had done well, Josse thought as he approached the place. His house was soundly constructed and well maintained, the roof in good repair and the doorstep swept. The wooden shutters over the windows looked quite new. He tethered the cob to a hitching-ring and, straightening his tunic and brushing a stray lock of hair off his face, he knocked at the door.
It was opened by a long, thin woman whose face wore the expression of one who was constantly on the look-out for misdemeanours and usually found them. Her eyes were pale blue and her hair was forced back so tightly under the stiff white headdress that it seemed to lift her eyebrows and open up her eyes, giving the impression that she was wide-eyed with horror at the unpleasant surprises that the world constantly threw at her. The mouth was small and the lips were barely perceptible, pursed up into a tight circle of disapproval.
Summoning his most courteous manner, Josse said, ‘Have I the honour to address Mistress Kelsey?’
‘If you’re after settlement, you’ll get the same as everybody else who comes knocking,’ she snapped. ‘Go and consult my brother’s lawyer!’
She was about to slam the door, very forcefully, but Josse put his foot in the gap. ‘It is not on a matter of business that I wish to speak to you, Mistress,’ he said, suppressing a gasp as the heavy door closed on his foot. ‘I am Josse d’Acquin and I have come from Hawkenlye Abbey. The matter is – well, in fact it is somewhat delicate. Might I . . .?’ He jerked his head towards the interior of the house, putting on his most winning smile.
Majorane Kelsey glared at him for a few moments. Then she grunted and said, ‘Oh, very well. You had better come in; there’s far too much interest being taken in my affairs already and I don’t want to set my neighbours’ big ears flapping again.’
With a scowl up and down the street that would have frozen most of the curious in their tracks, she opened the door just enough for Josse to pass through the gap and led the way into a pleasant but chilly room with shining stone flags on the floor, two stout wooden chests against one wall, a table, two chairs and a bench. There was a fire of sorts in the hearth but the wood was damp and it was giving out more smoke than heat.
Majorane settled herself on one of the chairs but she did not invite Josse to be seated. ‘I advise you not to remove your cloak,’ she said, ‘I’ve no maidservant at present and the idiot boy who does the outside work cannot tell seasoned wood from green.’ She, Josse observed, wore a man’s heavy fur-lined over-tunic on top of her woollen robe.
No maidservant, Josse was thinking. Aye, I know, Mistress, what became of
her
.
‘I have heard of the death of your brother,’ he said, ‘and I am sorry for your loss.’
‘You knew Martin?’ she asked sharply.
‘No.’
‘Then why should you be sorry?’
‘I am sorry for
you
, Mistress. To lose a close relative is always painful.’
She considered this for a while and then said, ‘Perhaps, perhaps.’ Eyes raised to meet Josse’s, she went on, ‘I am angry, Sir Josse, as well as aggrieved. Do you know’ – the pale eyes were suddenly bright with passion – ‘even as poor Martin lay dead in his bed and before I found him there, somebody had broken in and ransacked the house! Today is the first time that all this’ – she indicated the tidy room and the spotless floor – ‘has looked as it should since he died! Muddy footprints all over the place, a broken panel in the door, everything taken out of the chests and strewn on the floor!’
Josse could appreciate her fury. For a thief to take advantage of a man’s death and break in to rob him was despicable. ‘Were many things taken?’ he asked sympathetically.
The pale eyes roamed the room. ‘That, sir, is the odd thing. As far as I can tell, apart from some pretty but inexpensive silver trinkets, nothing is missing at all.’
‘And – forgive me, but you and your late brother possess – er – easily portable treasures?’
She gave a grunt of laughter. ‘You’re asking if a thief would have found anything here worth the taking? Oh, yes, sir knight. My brother was a successful merchant and we did not lack for life’s luxuries.’
‘Forgive me, lady, I meant no offence.’
‘Hmm.’ She continued to frown at him but then, her high brow clearing, she said, ‘What is this delicate matter, then?’
Deciding that his best bet was the direct approach, Josse said, ‘A young man arrived at Hawkenlye Abbey and has died there. It appears he was suffering from the foreign pestilence. I understand that your brother died of a similar disease and I am told by Master Morton, an apothecary at Newenden to whom the dead youth was apprenticed, that your brother and the apprentice travelled home from Boulogne together. I am commanded by the Abbess of Hawkenlye to discover whatever I can concerning these two men known to have had the sickness, with the aim of finding out who else might have been infected so that, if possible, we can take measures to restrict the spread of the disease.’
It sounded reasonable to his own ears and, with relief, he saw that Mistress Kelsey obviously thought so too. ‘Laudable,’ she commented. ‘Martin indeed died of some disease with which neither I nor our maidservant were familiar. There was little that could be done for him; we summoned the local apothecary and he mixed up some foul herbal concoction, but Martin brought it straight up again. I found him dead when I went into him at dawn the next day. He was already cold and I would say that he must have passed on in the small hours.’
‘I see.’ Josse held back from expressing sympathy; Majorane’s demeanour just did not seem to invite it. ‘Your maidservant . . .’ he began.
‘Gone,’ Majorane said abruptly. ‘Took sick a few days after she began nursing Martin and I packed her off back to her own family. She had another thing coming if she thought
I
was going to look after her.’
So you sent her home, where she infected eight other people, Josse thought bitterly, not counting the simple-minded brother who has subsequently fallen sick at Hawkenlye. Waiting until he was sure his voice would not reveal his emotion – there was no point in antagonising her – he said, ‘The disease is virulent, lady. Your brother and young Nicol the apprentice dead, the maid sick and now—’
‘Yet I remain well.’ Majorane gave him an ironic look. ‘I kept myself away from my brother, sir knight. It was the maid’s job to nurse him and I saw no reason to put myself at risk.’
Josse decided that, unless he changed the subject, he might very well hit her. Still speaking politely, he said, ‘Your brother crossed from Boulogne, I know that. Had he been anywhere else, Mistress Kelsey?’
‘He visited Paris,’ she replied, with a touch of pride in her tone. ‘Martin made good friends among the merchants of southern England and northern France and it was his custom to combine business with pleasure. This last visit was typical in that he concluded his commercial affairs in the city and then spent some days enjoying the hospitality of two fellow merchants who have a residence on an island in the middle of the river. My brother deals in many costly and exotic items that can only be obtained from far away; silk, naturally; spices, incense and plant drugs; bronze, gold and precious stones, sapphires, emeralds, rubies. Leather and ivory goods from the dark country that lies far to the south, as well as tortoiseshell and glassware. Why, we have a warehouse full to the roof with such exquisite things not half a mile from where we sit!’ She gave a small, smug smile. Then, apparently recalling Josse’s question, concluded, ‘When he left Paris, he travelled north to Boulogne and took ship for home.’
‘With Nicol Romley,’ Josse added, half to himself. Who had perhaps mentioned to Martin Kelsey of his grave fears that he was being followed . . . ‘Mistress Kelsey, did your late brother mention anything unusual about his trip?’
‘No,’ she said instantly. ‘He was very pleased with the outcome of his meeting with the Paris merchants and in good spirits on his return; that is, he was until he began to feel ill.’
‘Did he mention travelling with Nicol Romley?’
She shrugged. ‘Perhaps. Yes, I believe he did.’
‘And—’
But there was something she wanted to say. Raising her chin, she said, ‘I will tell you, sir knight, how my brother became sick. Would you like that?’