[Roger the Chapman 04] - The Holy Innocents (28 page)

I had not been in London for a long while, and felt a sudden sense of exhilaration at all the hustle and bustle going on around me. For me today, now that I am an old man, settled in the quiet and peace of my native Somerset, the city holds no attractions; but then, I was young and vigorous, and London was like a tray full of sweetmeats, each tempting delight waiting to be sampled, my mouth watering as my fingers hovered, not knowing which to choose first. For the present, however, I had work to do; my time was not my own. But later, if this mission should prove abortive, or when, with God's help, it was successfully concluded, I promised myself that I would return to the capital and sample the many temptations it had to offer.

Pausing in the shadow of St Paul's, I cudgelled my brains to remember something Grizelda had told me over a week ago, when we were talking in her cottage. Three years since, Rosamund Skelton, by then a widow and living in Totnes, had come to London to visit an old friend who lived in Paternoster Row. 'A Ginèvre Napier and her husband, Gregory. Gregory Napier is a goldsmith with a shop in West Cheap, between Foster Lane and Gudrun Lane.' I thought carefully for a moment or two, satisfying myself that those had indeed been Grizelda's words, then asked directions of a fellow pedlar, who was selling his wares just inside the churchyard.

He eyed me suspiciously, and was inclined to be unhelpful, until I assured him that I had no intention of setting up a rival pitch anywhere near at hand. Then, he was pleased to assist me.

'Go along Old Dean's Lane, and to your right, on the opposite side of this churchyard, is Paternoster Row. At its other end, by the church of St Michael at Corn, you'll come into West Cheap. You'll find most of the goldsmiths there.' I thanked him and followed his directions, walking slowly the length of Paternoster Row and wondering which of the gaily painted houses belonged to Gregory Napier. He must, I reflected, be a very wealthy man if he and his wife did not live behind the shop, but in a separate dwelling. But this was to my advantage, for if I could speak to Ginèvre Napier on her own, free of her husband's presence, I fancied she might talk more frankly. But first, I must make sure that Gregory Napier was busy at his work.

I accosted a small street urchin who, together with a flock of kites and ravens, was scavenging among the refuse piled up on the cobbles. Having watched him drive away several other boys who had ventured into this part of the Cheap, I judged it to be his patch, which he would defend against all comers. He would be sure to know which shop belonged to which craftsman, just as the owners, in their turn, would know him, by sight, if not by name.

I opened my palm to disclose half a groat and at once a dirty hand reached out to snatch it.

'Not so fast,' I protested, caging the money within my fingers. 'Does one of these goldsmiths' shops belong to Gregory Napier?'

The blue eyes narrowed with suspicion: the urchin was protective of his benefactors, who no doubt left him tit-bits from time to time, among the festering rubbish. I thought at first that he would refuse to answer, and that I should have to ask elsewhere; but the thought of the half-groat concealed in my palm proved to be too great a lure. He nodded towards a shop in front of whose booth no less than three capped apprentices called and toted their master's wares.

'That's Master Napier's,' he grunted, and shot out his hand again for the money.

But I still clenched my fist. 'And is he working there, inside?'

This time, the eyes widened and the gaze became malevolent. 'What's that to you, pedlar?'

'What's my business to you?' I retorted. I relented a little. 'I give you my solemn promise that I mean Master Napier no harm.'

The urchin hesitated, then decided I was honest.

"E's there,' he said. 'You can see the smoke comin' out the chimney. Workin' on a very delicate piece for my lord 'Astings, or so I 'eard, an' 'e won't trust anyone but 'imself to work the bellows.' The boy nodded knowingly. 'Right temp'rature's everythink in such cases.'

I laughed and released the coin into his eagerly waiting palm, before reaching into my pouch for a second. I held it up between finger and thumb, and the lad's eyes sparkled. A whole groat in one day was unlooked-for beneficence. He could scarcely believe his luck, and was by now ready to tell me anything I wanted to know without further quibble.

'Master Napier doesn't live behind the shop, I understand, but has a house in Paternoster Row. Can you tell me which it is?'

"Course I can!' he answered scornfully. "Ere! Follow me!' He led me back past the church of St Michael at Corn, where it stood at the junction with the Shambles, into the narrow, cobbled Row, made gloomy by its dozens of overhanging roofs. My lad pointed a grimy forefinger, indicating a house some four storeys high, the carved timbers of its gable picked out in scarlet, blue and gold. The windows of the lower two floors had wooden shutters, at present standing open to the warmth of the afternoon, but the upper ones were made of glass, a sure sign of riches, the top three showing a leaded trefoil, the lower three circles within a triangle, both signs of the Trinity of God.

'Tha’s it. Tha's the one.' The urchin once more extended his open hand and I placed the half-groat in it.

'Will Mistress Napier be within, do you think?' I asked, and heard the boy suck in his breath on a respectful whistle.

'Like that, is it then?' His teeth showed suddenly white in his dirty face. 'I'll keep a watch on the shop for you, if you want,' he offered.

I cuffed his ear. 'You'll keep a civil tongue in your head and put a curb on those lecherous thoughts of yours!' I told him severely. 'I know nothing of Mistress Napier, but have no doubt that she's a virtuous lady. And she certainly has nothing to fear from me.'

The urchin sent me a sidelong glance, full of meaning.

'You might 'ave nothin' to say in the matter, chapman.' He chuckled. 'I've 'eard stories about 'er as ud make your 'air curl.' He nudged my ribs. 'Eats the likes of you fer 'er brekfust.'

I sent him on his way with another box on the ear, but as he was accustomed to such treatment, I doubt it had any effect. He looked over his shoulder, grinning cheekily, as he made off, back to the Cheap to resume his scavenging. I, in the meantime, hesitated to knock on the door of the Napiers' house, wondering if there was any other entrance. While I did so, I became aware of someone watching me from behind one of the open, lower windows. A moment later, the door opened and a young maidservant made her appearance.

'My mistress bids you enter, chapman, if you're selling your wares. She has need of some new silk ribbons.'

Chapter Eighteen

I followed the young girl into one of the downstairs parlours, where such light as there was came through the unshuttered window from the street outside. It was a richly furnished room, with fresh, sweet-smelling rushes covering the floor, three finely carved armchairs, the ceiling beams newly painted in glowing reds and gold, the walls hung with splendid tapestries, whose colours had a pristine glow, a corner cupboard, displaying bowls and cups and plates crafted in go!d and silver-gilt, and a large table, fashioned from the finest oak.

From the middle of the ceiling was suspended a candelabra of latten tin, its many filigree pendants tinkling in the slightest breeze. It was the room of a man of wealth, of a man who knew what was due to himself and to his standing within the community he served.

'Ah, chapman, empty the contents of your pack on the table there, so that I can examine them at my leisure. I'm looking for some silk ribbons to adorn the sleeves of a new velvet gown.'

The woman who thus addressed me, was seated in one of the armchairs, her feet, elegantly shod in pale blue leather, resting on a low stool of carved elm. At first glance, it was difficult to guess her age, but I suspected her to be older than she would have had people think. There were lines around the grey-green eyes which seemed to grow more numerous the longer I observed them, and the slender, beringed hands already showed one or two brownish spots. Her eyebrows had been plucked and her forehead shaved to create the smooth, domed, mask-like appearance so prevalent in those days amongst women of fashion. A few stray hairs, which had escaped the razor, were auburn in colour, but the rest of the mane was tucked out of sight beneath a brocade cap and wired, gauze veil. Her full-sleeved gown was made of pale green sarcinet, embroidered with tiny blue flowers on thin, gold stems, and her girdle, studded with semi-precious stones, was of the same blue leather as her shoes. A gold and coral rosary was wrapped about one slender wrist, and a beautifully wrought gold pendant, on a thick gold chain, dangled from her neck. Her many rings were also of gold, as was the brooch, in the shape of a peacock, pinned to one shoulder of her gown, Master Gregory Napier made certain that his wife was a walking showpiece for his wares.

I emptied my pack as I was bid, spreading out its contents across the table, thankful that I had restocked in Exeter last Friday morning. I had managed to obtain several lengths of very fine silk ribbon from a Portuguese ship which had only just then tied up at the city quay. But even as I displayed them for her approval, I was conscious that Ginèvre Napier was far more interested in me. Her eyes kept straying from the ribbon to my face, and at every opportunity, her hand brushed one of mine. At length, she bade me draw up a stool.

'For I can't make up my mind which ribbon to choose,' she said. 'They are all so beautiful.' After a few more minutes, however, she abandoned all pretence of interest, leaned back in her chair and asked, 'Why were you watching this house? No, don't deny it. I saw you.'

I recollected the shadowy figure at the open casement, and decided that I must be honest with her.

'I've come to London from Devon,' I said, 'from the township of Totnes, on purpose to seek you out.' She raised the faint, plucked line of her eyebrows in puzzlement, and I continued, 'It concerns Lady Skelton and her second husband; the man she married here in London, Eudo Colet.' A momentary wariness flickered into the grey-green eyes, and the heavy, almond-shaped lids closed over them, briefly.

Then the narrow shoulders were hunched with a ripple of pale green silk.

'Now, why does a pedlar want to know about Master Eudo Colet?' she demanded.

'If you've the patience to listen,' I said, 'I'll tell you. If not, you have only to say the word and I'll take my leave at once.' But I sent up an urgent prayer to heaven that she would hear me out.

Ginèvre clasped her hands together and regarded me thoughtfully across the bony knuckles.

'Oh, I've the patience to listen.' She added candidly, 'I can always find time for a lad as good-looking as you.' I ignored this last remark as best I could and plunged without further ado into the events which had occupied my mind, waking and sometimes sleeping, for the past twelve days: those surrounding the disappearance and subsequent murder of the two Skelton children; as yet, I mentioned nothing about the burning of Grizelda's cottage and the death of Innes Woodsman, nor of the killing of Martin Fletcher and Luke Hollis. When, at last, I had finished, my companion pursed her lips.

'I pleaded with her not to marry that man,' she said after a pause, 'but Rosamund was always headstrong. Headstrong and wilful. That father of hers could never curb her fits and starts. Not that he ever tried to, as far as I could tell. A foolish, over-indulgent man, who thought his precious only child could do no wrong. As for her husband, Sir Henry Skelton... well! A man concerned more with his own advancement than trying to please his wife. A cold man, uninterested in the pleasures of the flesh.' She stole a sidelong glance at me to see if she had caused embarrassment with such plain speaking, but I gave her no satisfaction, keeping my features under control. Ginèvre continued, 'But then, as you may know, he was killed after on!y two years of marriage, and Rosamund went home to Sir Jasper, in Devon.'
 

I nodded. 'And her cousin with her.'

'Her cousin?' Once again, Ginèvre was puzzled. Then comprehension dawned. 'Oh, you mean Grizelda Harbourne.

That poor creature!' She was dismissive. 'I'd forgotten she was kin to Rosamund, as anyone might, considering the way she was treated.'

'And how was that?' I ventured.

'She was nurse to young Andrew after he was born, but before that~ no better than a servant. If she led you to believe otherwise, she's lying.'

'I begin to think so,' I agreed, and my heart went out to Grizelda for her proud and painful deception. 'She wasn't asked to accompany her kinswoman, when Lady Skelton came to stay here, with you, three years ago?'

Ginèvre Napier laughed. 'No, indeed! For the first time in her life, Rosamund was her own mistress. No husband, no father. She was free to do as she pleased. She brought only her maid, a young, biddable girl who would protest at nothing, and do exactly as she was told.'

'And it was during that visit,' I said, 'that Lady Skelton met Eudo Colet when you both visited St Bartholomew's fair.'

Mistress Napier's eyes opened very wide and fixed themselves on my face. 'Now, how do you know that?' she asked softly.

I made no attempt to answer the question. 'He was a mummer,' I hazarded. 'A singer who could also play the flute a little. And he travelled the roads in summer, going from fair to fair.'

My companion nodded slowly, a frown creasing her forehead. 'He was with a troupe of mummers and jongleurs who had a sideshow at the fair. But I ask again, how do you know? For I'd stake my life that Rosamund would have told no one, and nor would he. I'd have been willing to swear that Gregory and I were the only two people who were party to the truth.'