14 - The Burgundian's Tale (27 page)

I thought for a moment the lad was going to burst into tears. He did indeed sniff and wipe his nose in his fingers, but continued to stare at me more defiantly than ever.

‘So?’ I prompted. ‘You could still be helping William Morgan in the garden, living with your sister.’

‘Half-sister,’ he corrected.

‘All right,’ I agreed. ‘Nell’s your half-sister. But it doesn’t alter anything. It still doesn’t explain why you’re here.’

An expression of fear flitted momentarily across his face. ‘You ain’t told Nell where t’ find me, ’ave you? Tell me you ain’t! ’Ow
did
you find me, by the way?’

‘I haven’t seen Nell since discovering your whereabouts,’ I assured him. ‘And as to how I found you, one of the women at the Needlers Lane workshop thought she recognized you when she was walking to Holborn through Faitour Lane.’

His fear turned to puzzlement. ‘Why would you be talking about me to one of Master Broderer’s workers? And what’s it all got to do with Fulk?’

So I took a deep breath and started at the beginning, working my way through what had happened so far until today, when Nell had mentioned his disappearance. There were, of course, things that I didn’t tell him. I also had to cope with a certain amount of initial – and natural – scepticism on his part concerning my past and present involvement with the King’s younger brother; but I managed to convince him in the end. Unfortunately, I didn’t foresee, although I should have done, that this would make him even more wary of me.

He clammed up, refusing to offer any reason for his change of living beyond saying that he had grown tired of gardening for a pittance, and being bullied by William Morgan. A boy he met had told him there was good money to be made as a whore, and had offered to find him a place in this brothel, where he had been ever since.

‘You came here,’ I hazarded, ‘because it’s close to the St Clair house in the Strand.’ I saw his sudden flush of colour and knew I had guessed aright. ‘Do you ever go back there in the dead of night to climb the wall to sit in the garden?’

‘No I fuckin’ don’t!’ he exploded with such venom that I jumped in surprise. ‘I came ’ere for safety. Someone in that house was tryin’ to kill me! Safety! Same as I told that there Fulk, or whatever he was called. They look after me ’ere.’

I was beginning to feel like Theseus in the labyrinth, but without his ball of thread.

‘Master Quantrell asked you the same question? How did
he
know where to find you? Nell doesn’t know where you are.’

Young Roger shrugged. ‘Just chance. ’E came ’ere looking for pleasure and, when we finished, we got talking. ’E found out I was Nell’s half-brother. Then ’e come back once or twice more. ’E wasn’t really a sodomite. Just did it now and then, I reckon, for the thrill of it. Doin’ something ’e shouldn’t. ’E was that sort. But ’e did like asking questions.’

‘What about?’

‘Well … ’Bout the garden, mainly. What sort o’ things we planted. Did Mistress St Clair and the rest take much interest in it.’ He shrugged. ‘Nothin’ more.’

‘Is that all?’

‘More or less. I did ask ’im once why ’e wanted to know about the garden. I said I thought he must’ve heard the story ’bout the old Savoy Palace that used t’ be in the Strand.’

‘What story is that?’ I queried. I found I wasn’t sweating as much as when I had first entered the room. I was growing accustomed to the stench and finding it less offensive than before.

Young Roger, too, grew easier in his manner as he became used to my presence, and convinced that I posed no threat.

‘You ain’t a Londoner,’ he said, nodding sagely. ‘Though I s’pose I’d guessed that already by the funny way you talk.’ I raised my eyebrows, but otherwise ignored this slur on my West Country burr. ‘Everyone in London,’ he went on, ‘knows the story that there’s treasure buried somewhere in the Strand.’

‘Treasure? What sort of treasure?’ I was intrigued.

‘Usual kind. Money, jewels, gold.’

‘Why? How is it supposed to have got there? And whereabouts?’

My final question made him laugh, showing stumps of blackened teeth. ‘If anyone knew
whereabouts
,’ he answered, carefully mimicking my tone, ‘some greedy sod would’ve found it by now, wouldn’t ’e? As to ’ow it got there, well! When that Wat Tyler ’n’ John Ball ’n’ Jack Straw ’n’ their howling mob sacked London and burned down the Savoy Palace all them years ago, Wat Tyler ’n’ John Ball gave orders that no one was to loot the place on pain o’ being strung up from the nearest tree. What they was doin’, they said, was for the King and liberty and so on, and not for making themselves rich.’ The boy curled his lip. ‘Well, I mean to say! Askin’ a bit too much of any man, ain’t it? John o’ Gaunt was the richest man in the country after the King. The Savoy was stuffed with treasures. Bound to ’ave been! More ’n flesh ’n’ blood could resist. The story reckons there was looting, and plenty of it, and a good few managed to get away with it. But a group of men got caught, an’ one o’ Wat Tyler’s captains ordered ’em to be hanged there and then, without trial nor nothin’, an’ the very people who’d been lootin’ themselves performed the deed.

‘But there’d been a fourth man in the group who managed to slip away unnoticed to where they’d piled up their loot. An’ while the others were hangin’ his three comrades, he buried it all, meaning to come back for it later. But later was no good. ’E was recognized and fingered as being one o’ the group and strung up, as well. The treasure ’e’d buried was never found, and still ’asn’t been found to this day. They reckon it’s still there, somewhere. Probably in somebody’s garden.’ He grinned. ‘Or maybe under one of the ’ouses. More ’n one owner’s had his cellar floor dug up, so they say.’

I thought this over. ‘But those three houses at the end of the Strand,’ I pointed out, ‘are considered to have been a part of the original palace; therefore, if this tale were true, the treasure – if it exists at all – is unlikely to be buried
underneath
them … Do you believe this story?’ I asked the boy.

My namesake grimaced. ‘Naw! There are tales like this un by the dozen about almost every part o’ London. The streets are paved with gold, we tell strangers. Just dig a bit an’ you’ll find it. Meantime, buy my nice new shiny spade. Or, better still, this old un that’s cost me nothing, ’cause it belonged to my great-great-grandfather.’

A cynic at twelve years old! My heart warmed to him in spite of his unprepossessing appearance and smell.

‘And what did Fulk Quantrell say when you asked him if
he
believed this story?’

‘Said ’e hadn’t ’eard it. What was it about? So I told ’im, like I’ve just told you.’

‘Did
you
believe
him
?’

Young Roger, who, until now, had been perched on the empty frame of the bed, shifted and slid down the curve of the mattress to sit cross-legged on the floor.

‘Well … that’s the funny thing. When ’e said ’e’d never ’eard the tale, yes, I did believe ’im. But later that visit, just as ’e was going, ’e laughed and said something like, “There’s plenty of treasure buried in the Strand if you know where to look for it. I’ve been hopin’ you’d tell me where it can be found. But seems like you don’t know.” Then ’e laughed again and added, “But I don’t really need it. I can make my fortune without.” ’E went away and that was the last time I saw ’im. Next thing I ’eard, he was dead. Been found murdered in Faitour Lane.’ After a pause, Roger asked eagerly, ‘Anythin’ else you want t’ know?’ He glanced at the coins in his hand and jingled them suggestively.

‘I’m not a rich man,’ I protested. Nevertheless, I dipped into my purse and doled out a couple more groats. ‘You haven’t yet explained exactly why you ran away from Mistress St Clair’s. What made you think someone was trying to kill you? And who do you think it was?’

‘I don’t know who it was,’ was the disappointing response. ‘But I do know that I had some very peculiar accidents in that house.’

‘Such as?’

‘Well, once, I was by myself at the bottom of the garden, plantin’ some cress seeds along the water’s edge, like Paulina Graygoss told me. I ’ad me back to the ’ouse and wasn’t thinkin’ about nothing but what I was doing, when suddenly, I toppled into the river. I swear to you, chapman, that someone pushed me, but when I came to the surface, there was no one in sight. Everyone swore they was somewhere else at the time and said I must’ve slipped. But I didn’t. I know I didn’t. Somebody pushed me in. Luckily, I can swim like a fish. Then, another time, I’d to go down the cellar to bring up some o’ the master’s favourite wine. I’d a candle, o’ course, but I still didn’t see the wooden ball on the third or fourth step from the top. I went crashing to the bottom and was lucky not t’ break me fuckin’ neck. As it was, I was laid up the best part of a month.’

‘What sort of a ball?’ I queried.

‘A child’s ball. A painted thing Mistress Alcina used to play with when she was a child, or so Paulina Graygoss said. Said, too, she thought it was put away with all the other old toys in a chest in Alcina’s bedchamber, but that someone must’ve got it out, though goodness knows why. That’s what Paulina said. And there was the time I was terrible sick after eating me dinner. It was mutton stew, and no one else was ill. I reckon somethin’ ’ad been added to me bowl when I wasn’t lookin’.’

‘Whom did you suspect? Mistress Graygoss?’

‘Any of the women. Not Nell, but everyone else. They were all in and out the kitchen that day, I remember. The master and mistress were ’avin’ Master and Mistress Jolliffe and Master Brandon to supper, ’s I recall, and were out to impress. Mistress Alcina was quite sweet on Brandon Jolliffe in them days, though I ’ear she ain’t so much now. Wanted Master Quantrell. We ’ad a laugh about that, we did. But, as I say, all the women were in ’n’ out o’ the kitchen at some time or another that morning. And William Morgan. Any of ’em could’ve put somethin’ in me stew without me seeing.’

I was a little doubtful about this last instance; and in the first, whatever Roger thought, he
could
have slipped. But the incident with the child’s ball certainly appeared more sinister.

‘Did anything else happen after that?’ I asked.

He gave a scornful snort. ‘I didn’t wait t’ find out. I ran away and came ’ere, where I’ve been ever since. What’s more, I’m goin’ to stay ’ere. Now, mind! Don’t you go tellin’ anyone in that house you’ve seen me. Not even Nell.’

‘She’s worried about you. She’d like to know that you’re alive and well.’

‘Daresay,’ he replied unfeelingly, ‘but she ain’t one for holding her tongue. Never could keep a secret, couldn’t Nell.’

‘Very well,’ I agreed. ‘I promise to say nothing. But I can’t answer for Lionel Broderer and his mother. Or for the other women. They must all have heard what was said.’ I didn’t add that once I had established my interest in young Roger Jessop, he had at once become a more interesting subject for discussion, and, doubtless, was even now a general topic of conversation in the embroidery workshop.

Roger was dismissive. ‘None of ’em knows me well enough t’ care what I’m up to. They got other things to talk about.’

I didn’t like to disillusion him, and, after all, he might be right. It did cross my mind that I ought to use any means in my power to wean him away from his present existence, and that to frighten him into running again might not be such a bad idea. But I didn’t. The smell and the close confines of the room were beginning to make me feel queasy once again, and my one thought was rapidly becoming of escape.

I tossed the lad two more coins, mumbled my farewells and left, stumbling along the fetid passageway and staggering thankfully into the less noisome air of Faitour Lane. I walked back to the Strand and down the alleyway between the St Clairs’ and Martin Threadgold’s houses to the river’s edge, where I paused for a moment, breathing in the cleaner river smells and staring out across the Thames, a streak of silver studded with the russet and blue, crimson and emerald of hundreds of barges.

‘Ah! Master Chapman!’ said a voice. ‘Do you have any news for me yet concerning the death of my nephew?’

I jumped guiltily and turned to find myself looking over the wall, into the stern, questioning features of Judith St Clair.

‘N
-No,’ I stammered nervously. ‘At least … er … no, not yet.’

‘Not yet?’ The well-marked eyebrows were raised and the blue eyes surveyed me with a faint hauteur. ‘What precisely does that mean? Do you have any idea as to the murderer’s identity or do you not? If not, why don’t you just admit defeat and return to Bristol, or wherever it is you come from? I thought from the start that it was a mistake allowing a pedlar to usurp the office of sergeant-at-law. But of course, it’s not my place to question the decision of Duchess Margaret or My Lord of Gloucester.’

I felt my hackles begin to rise, but schooled my expression to one of civility – servility, even.

‘I still have some further investigations to pursue, mistress, but I hope to be able to satisfy both you and your royal patrons in the very near future.’

She darted a suspicious glance at me, as though convinced that I was bluffing; but she permitted herself to be mollified a trifle.

‘Come and look round my garden,’ she invited most unexpectedly. ‘You can easily scale the wall.’ She raised herself on tiptoe, so that her shoulders as well as her head came into view, and by dint of resting her arms along the top of the wall, she was able to peer over to the other side. ‘Look! You see those protruding stones? There, there and there. Simple, particularly for someone of your height. Those long legs of yours should make light work of such a climb.’

I could hardly refuse such a pressing invitation, even had I wished to, and within a matter of moments found myself standing beside Judith St Clair on one of the numerous paths that intersected the beds of flowers.

‘A beautiful garden, mistress,’ I said admiringly, staring about me as if seeing it for the first time. She smiled proudly, but there was a hint of something else in her expression that I could not quite define.

‘I like it. I love flowers,’ she answered simply. ‘And my favourite place is under the willow tree, looking out across the water. In spite of the river traffic, which has greatly increased in recent years, I find it very peaceful. Come and stand there with me for a minute or two and you’ll see what I mean.’