She sat up slowly on her pallet. The most enjoyable time of night. When the sleep of the old faded and prepared for the sleep of the new. The mid-awakening. She was eager to make the most of this time while her mind was clear.
Across the bedchamber, the pallet Margery slept on rustled.
“Are you awake yet?” Emma spoke in a loud whisper, knowing full well that Margery was feigning sleep. “Rouse yourself and let us solve this puzzle.”
Wrapping a heavy cloak around her, she padded over to her writing desk collecting a taper. She went to the fire, blew on some embers and holding the taper to the glow, it soon took flame. Cupping it carefully she went and lit some candles for their work.
“Margery dearest, which would you prefer? Cold air or cold water? I have both!”
“You are the devil, you know that… don’t you?” as the mound evolved and a bedraggled Margery emerged, groping for her cloak and wrapping herself tightly. The malevolent look was wasted on Emma who threw her some woollens to keep her warm.
“Sit yourself while I fetch my notes from the night Edmund was killed.”
Sitting on her stool, Margery looked at Emma, quill poised.
“This is in no special order – we will go through each item I found interesting on the night.”
“Shoes and blue ink – both paths leading nowhere. Bristol work on the shoes, dozens like them. The ink led us to Catherine, but that is finished now.”
Margery carefully wrote ‘Shoes – End’ and ‘Blue Ink – End’.
Emma continued. “The half lead token – what does that mean, anything?”
“There was something about that token that presses on my memory but what…” Margery tried conjuring it up, closing her eyes but sighed. “It reminds me of something. But I cannot place it. It is a pity we don’t have a drawing.”
“We could get it. Catherine, I think, gave it when paying for intercession.”
“Well then, let us keep that as an item of interest.”
“Agreed. And my next note is ‘Wax Tablet’. I returned it to the friary. Does it mean anything?”
“We must ask why he was carrying it. The best person to answer that would be Friar Jacob. Include it for action.”
“Missing pouch? Hmm, now I think this is worthy of our time. I am convinced there was a third pouch.”
“Which pouch do you mean?” Margery queries.
“Remember, when Catherine asked for the second pouch, I presumed she meant the Tablet pouch and I brought it to her. But, she was utterly disinterested in it. She was expecting another, different pouch. She wasn’t sure of its description but I got the impression it held valuables.”
“Good point. Then a missing pouch, high on the list.”
As Margery was writing, her quill stopped mid letter. “Wait, I just had a thought. This means that… Catherine cannot be the murderer!”
“How so?”
“If she was, she would have taken the pouch not come to you looking for it.”
“Yes, exactly right. That saves us checking Catherine, we can cross her off the list.”
“Wait, what list? I am confused. This is a list of things.”
“Yes, we could call it things.” Then drawing another sheet of parchment, she headed it ‘People’. And then wrote Catherine – Innocent.
“People – anyone suspicious or could have killed Edmund,” Margery prompted.
“Walter – innocent if his landlord agrees to the tables game. Put that down for checking. Then there is Thom.”
Margery paused. “I agree, we can add him, but I feel that I am abandoning him by writing his name.”
Emma felt for Margery, suggested that she just write ‘uncertain’ for him.
“That woman with the torn hood that Ned mentioned. What do you think Margery? Is she worth finding?”
“Yes I do. She was there, she must have seen something and… you won’t like this. The Guild-Master was also there. I think both must be listed. I am not saying they are the murderer, but we need to keep them in mind for information.”
Emma was still, the colour had drained from her face.
“What is it – have you seen a ghost?”
“Maybe. If the Guild-Master is the murderer. That would explain many things – why he wants me to stop investigating, why he wants Thom found guilty.”
“Then they definitely go on the list,” as Margery returned to her parchment.
“Do you think we have everything tallied?” Emma asked.
Margery pulled another parchment close. This sheet she called ‘Oddities’.
“Oddities? Like what?”
“Fenwick Hall. Emma, you won’t like this one, but from outside, where I am, Fenwick Hall is involved, not least because Edmund succumbed here. Why here? Was it by chance or…”
“Margery Chester, I think you are grasping at steam – be careful it can burn you badly. If it eases your spirit – by all means add it to the list. Finished?”
“Almost, one last question – your ghost wine.”
“Ah now Margery, what can that possibly have to do with the murder?”
“Most likely nothing at all. But, honestly now – wouldn’t you love to solve that mystery as well?”
Emma had to laugh – “Go on you rogue – add it.”
They were startled by a slight cough near the entrance. Ned was standing there by the fire embers.
“Mistress… forgive me if I speak out of turn.”
“You mean to tell us to leave Master Richard be?” Emma answered quickly.
“Aye. And I mean it kindly. Talk with him yourself – not with others about him.”
“We shan’t speak ill of him, Ned. You can rest easy on that.”
He hesitated at the door. “Then I’ll add only this… the assize judges are coming. Only two more nights, they say, for Spring session. The coroner has decided that Thom’s fate will be decided at the court. They will declare Thom’s fate on the day – they are swift.”
The candle guttered, casting a flickering light on the list –
THINGS
Shoes – End
Blue Ink – End
Half Lead Token – Retrieve from Father Jerome
Wax Tablet – Ask Friar Jacob
Missing Pouch – Important
PEOPLE:
Catherine – Innocent
Walter – Did he play tables?
Thom – Uncertain
Woman Torn Hood – Who?
Guild-Master – Maybe Killer?
ODDITIES:
Fenwick Hall – Why there?
Ghost Wine
Ned was coaxing the embers back to life with a hand bellows when Margery and Emma descended from their bed-chamber. The room was still cold after the night’s frost and the tapestries hanging on the walls did little to keep the cold at bay.
Seeing Susan in the kitchen, Margery strolled over to her. “Good morning Susan.”
“Margery, Good morning to you. Did you sleep well?”
She bent closer. “To be honest, I was frozen.”
“Of course you were – without your Goodman to heat you!”
“Stop it, the priest will banish you for saying such a thing,” as they both laughed at their private joke.
“Will I bring out the pottage?”
“Absolutely not, you are our guest, the master will be in soon – he would not hear of it. Go, go on now and sit.”
Margery joined Emma at the table. Both women stood when Richard entered, waiting for him to sit.
Conversation ceased as Susan dished out bowls of pottage, Ned filled cups with warm mulled wine and everyone started helping themselves to the rough fare that was breakfast – coarse trenchers of stale bread, dried fish and cheese.
Ned stood at the bottom of the table, grabbing bites in between serving the family and guest, while Susan stood at the kitchen doorway ensuring that sufficient fare was to hand at all times.
“Ned,” Richard inquired between mouthfuls. “Anything to report from yesterday?” Adding pointedly, “While Emma was away?”
“No master, it was quiet.” chewing contentedly on the stale oaten bread.
“Hmmm…” He reached out and speared a chunk of cheese.
The breaking fast meal continued, mostly in silence, little if any conversation, and any that was, was initiated by the Master.
“Mistress Margery… How is your family?”
“They are fine, sister is minding them while…”
“Yes, while you are away all day with my daughter,” he finished for her. “How does your husband entertain such absence from your duties?”
“You need never fear on that, we are very happy with a working bond.”
“A working bond, I never heard such a thing.”
“Yes, Master Fenwick, we have a bond, the two of us…”
She replied with a rhyme
“He gives the roof,
I give the proof –
Two babes done,
Two to come.”
Emma laughed on hearing this rhyme, “Oh you are wicked!”
“Yes, but we are happy. I have my own time… Just two more to produce!”
That mischievous smile back again.
Richard was intent on not being bested.
“It is time, for you to return and finish the bargain?”
The stillness was complete, but only for some short moments – then Margery howled with laughter, punching Richard on the shoulder in camaraderie – possibly not the reaction Richard had expected.
“Master?”
“Yes, Ned?”
“Coroner called yesterday seeking a word with you.”
Richard paused, chunk of cheese skewered on his knife, half the way to his mouth.
It completed the journey and he chewed it slowly, taking a long draught of the mulled wine before speaking.
“Did he now? Did he say what he wished to speak of?”
“No, Master. He did say he will return today… sometime.”
“Pass on my regrets. I feel I must be elsewhere today,” he said, pushing back his platter with finality.
Turning to Emma, he added, “You must entertain him. Be courteous and cordial, but not too familiar. Ensure he leaves content.”
“Unfortunately father, I, also, need to be elsewhere and cannot entertain the coroner.”
“Where?”
“Greyfriars.”
He paused, weighing his words; conscious that a visitor was at table
“What is so urgent to bring you to the friary?”
“Friar Jacob. I need to… I don’t want to hurt or upset anyone, you… I seek advice from the friar.”
“You cannot talk to me? What have you done? Are we, I mean are you in trouble?”
Emma controlled her breathing, twisting her late husband’s wedding ring “I must talk with the friar about things that are concerning me.”
“About Thomas the murderer? Am I right? Is it?”
“No father, no, I mean yes. He is not the murderer and people can prove he was elsewhere. If I don’t intervene… “
“Stop there, stop right there. This is none of your business.” He pointed to Margery. “I hold you responsible for…. For this… nonsense… “
“It has nothing to do with Margery. This is my decision.”
“You have no idea what you are stirring. Leave it be. Go to the friar? No… no, I forbid it.”
“You want me to let an innocent man hang? That is a grievous sin. You want me damned?!”
Margery looked very uncomfortable being present during this family quarrel. “May I be excused, I have an errand with Father Jerome.” She looked pointedly at Emma.
Emma nodded and mouthed ‘thank you’.
“I will return presently.” And quietly edged past Richard who was lost in his own tormented world. He seemed almost ill as thoughts churned around in his brain, he spoke but no words came, speechless as his mouth tried to form words, thoughts. Ned, standing at the end of the table with the warm jug of wine in his hand, looked at Emma, pleading, mouthing silently ‘please stop’.
In the quiet, they heard Margery depart through the outside kitchen door.
“Father… please compose yourself, you look ill.”
From below came a loud rapping on the shop door, followed by a muffled command that was too faint to understand. Richard nodded to Ned who hurried downstairs. At the table, all eyes were on the stairs, ears straining to decide who could be calling at this early hour. The bolts could be heard being pulled, followed by a brief conversation. Two sets of footsteps came up the stairs.
The beadle entered and removed a parchment from his satchel. He addressed the master. “A summons – from the coroner.”
Before anyone could react, he was already walking back down the stairs but none paid any attention to his departure – all eyes were on the master, who was nervously holding the sealed parchment. The anger of only some moments prior – gone, forgotten.
Richard pushed himself back from the table; the legs of his great oak chair groaned against the boards, echoing the fear inside him. He tapped the table once, weakly, motioning for Ned to follow, and went from the hall. His footsteps barely sounding the stair, leaving a heavy silence behind.
Emma looked over at Susan, standing still in the doorway, worry written all over. Emma was reminded of the previous summons – Richard was detained in the castle. She pushed herself in one easy movement from the table. Went over to Susan.
“Listen Susan. This time it is different. There are three full days left, I will not let father down. Margery and I have our duty to attend to.” As she gave Susan a great hug, she thought Two Nights.
Emma stood by the window, watching the strete below. Susan was clearing the breakfast things, casting worried glances her way.
It wasn’t long before Margery burst through the kitchen door, running straight to the roaring fire in the hearth, near enough to embrace it.
“Christ’s teeth but ’tis cold out there.” She moved constantly from foot to foot, twisting, trying to get heat into every pore.
“Margery Chester! Did you venture out without cloak or boots? No wonder your children run wild!”
But Margery just gave a wicked grin holding one hand out behind her towards Emma shaking a small piece of parchment. “Here take it, I’m not leaving this heat.”
Curiosity piqued, Emma went over to fetch the scrap. As soon as she got near Margery spun around and gave her a great big hug. Looking over Emma’s shoulder she gave Susan a wink and a smile.
Susan headed to the kitchen shaking her head – those two young women!
“Margery stop it, I can’t breathe.”
“Wait till I tell you what happened with that Father Jerome. He is a strange man and no question.”
“Come sit…”
“No, bring the bench here or I will freeze over there.”
They pulled the heavy bench over to the hearth and sat. Like two conspirators, they leaned in as Margery described her quick visit to All Saints Church across the strete.
“He was none too pleased to see me at first – a woman without covered hair, he was scandalised.”
“Would you stop it, really.”
“He was, I tell you. Anyway I explained your request.”
“My request, mine!”
“Yes, of course ‘yours’, he was hardly going to listen to this unrepentant sinner.”
A very loud sigh came from Susan in the kitchen, her disapproval evident for all.
“When I told him, what you needed… well…I could scarce believe the transformation. He was like a man made young again…”
“Will you stop this…”
“I am serious, he almost pulled me by my hair through to the sacristy where he had this huge locked chest.”
“Oh come on now Margery, you lie.”
“Oh you are no fun! It was a small box and he didn’t lay a hand on me… But, wait till I tell you what he has stored in it.”
Emma was confused why does she always make a story so difficult? “There was nothing in it?”
“No! What is wrong with you Emma Fenwick – there were many tokens – tokens from different places he visited, holy medals – big, small, shiny, dirty. And, and listen to this. He knew each one by name, who gave it to him, where he got it. That man has some memory… or… maybe he was just pretending… No, no, no… he wouldn’t… would he?” Undaunted, she continued.
“He showed me a holy medal from Salisbury – Salisbury! That was not the only faraway place. He also had one from Canterbury and York. They are days away. Did you know he travelled so far?”
But she never gave Emma a chance to reply. A thought occurred to her and she interrupted Emma with a raised finger, before she had a chance to speak.
“Unless.. No… You don’t think… did the rascal lie to me? Him, a holy priest lie to me!”
Emma blessed herself lest Margery would scandalise her and bring the wrath of God down on the household.
“Margery!” Emma looked her friend in the face. “Calm down will you. Did you get the token?”
“No, he seemed very reluctant to entrust it to me. Silly man. But he did make a beautiful drawing of it and also a drawing of the symbol. That portion of parchment you hold is, as he said a true drawing of Edmund’s token. In every detail. An exact copy. He did it as I waited.”
Emma looked at the torn portion of parchment.
“Well… I don’t know what to say… we have a drawing. That is… You’re great Margery.”
“I’ve been thinking.”
“Go on.”
“Collecting worthless tokens and medals – the man needs… well, he needs company. A good woman to drag him away from his little box of treasures.”
From the kitchen, Susan’s voice rang out sharp: “I hear you Mistress Chester! Our Lord will smite you down, and if He misses, I won’t!”
They suppressed laughter, hands over mouths like guilty children.
“Enough of this hilarity, Margery. We must be out and do it right today. Greyfriars first?”
Margery looked longingly at the brazier, unwilling to move.
“Susan, do you have any pattens for Mistress Margery, we must out to Greyfriars?”
The morning frost had not yet lifted as Emma and Margery made their way towards the bridge over the River Frome. The cobbles beneath their feet glistened, and a thin mist curled above the water, carrying the stench of gutted fish from downstream. Their breath rose white in the cold air, mingling with the chatter of traders pushing carts across the bridge and the occasional creak of a wagon wheel.
Margery rubbed her gloved hands together and pulled her cloak tighter. “That hall of yours is colder than a merchant’s heart in Lent. You must take control, Emma, truly. Let me help you find proper hangings – heavy wool, bright colours. A house needs warmth and life.”
Emma smiled faintly, the corner of her veil lifting in the breeze. “Yes, yes, you said as much before breakfast.”
“I meant it then and I mean it now,” Margery pressed, her tone fond but insistent. “You must cast off this gloom. The mourning’s done its work. A widow’s garb may shield you from gossip, but it will wither your soul if you cling to it too long.”
Emma hesitated, eyes on the glimmering water below. “I’ve begun to feel it myself. Perhaps it is time to…”
“Mistresses Emma and Margery!” a warm, familiar voice interrupted. “God be with you both this pleasant morning.”
They turned and looked up to see Friar Jacob approaching from the far side of the bridge, his grey habit tucked against the wind, his face ruddy with cold yet bright with good humour.
“God be with you also, friar. We were this moment searching for you, this saves us a journey to the friary.”
“Over here,” he led them off the strete to the side parapet, out of the way of the steady stream of passers-by. “That’s better. How can I be of assistance?”
“Margery, do you have the parchment drawing of the…?”
“Oh that?” Margery had to cast off a glove and burrow deep in her cloak finally extracting a crumpled document.
“Friar, this is an exact copy of a wax tablet that Edmund had on his person. The original has been returned to the Friary. Is there any particular significance to the …” indicating the symbols.
“Here, let me see.”
The bitter wind blowing up the Frome almost turned the women to statues, while the friar seemed totally unaware of it. Margery looked pointedly at his sandalled feet, shuddering with incomprehension at his apparent immunity to the cold.
“Ah yes, of course. These symbols tally with indulgences tallies, monies collected. It is of no great significance. Looks like just rough work notations.”
“Thank you friar, I had hoped… not sure what I had hoped, to be honest.”
“You were hoping for some puzzle, yes?”
“God bless you, friar”
“And to you,” the friar nodded in acknowledgement to a passer by. It was a constant interruption.
Emma continued, “in a way, yes. But it just means that one path has been travelled to the end, we have others to follow.”
“Any that I can be of assistance with? You can always knock on my door. You know that Mistresses.”
“There is one other item,” Margery interrupted lest he depart.
“Yes?”
She rummaged in her large cloak again and this time produced a drawing of the half lead token, giving it to the friar and taking back the first document.
“We feel that we should know what the symbol on it is. It stirs a memory in me, but I cannot grasp it tight. Does it mean anything to you?”
“This is easy, that token must come from one of the goldsmiths – that symbol is their mark that is stamped on all their items.
“He is right! That is where I saw it before. On the table silver, and ornaments.”
“Do you know which goldsmith?”
“Ah, that I don’t. I don’t have much need to visit them. But you should not have any problem finding him. Any of the goldsmiths will recognise that symbol for you.”
Margery retrieved the document and put it safely away with its sibling deep in her cloak.
As the friar made his excuses, he said, “Remember, if men bar your way, use my token. May God bless and guide you both.”
“What did you think of that?”
“The wax tablet? Yes, I agree with him. A false lead.”
“No, not that, here let us out of this madness and find somewhere quiet off the bridge.”
Margery elbowed her way through the throng heading towards the Greyfriars religious service, back to the town side of the bridge.
“No, I mean his sandalled feet. How does he heat himself? I was cold just looking at his long blue toes.”
“Margery, what is wrong with you. He is a friar, it is penance.”
“Maybe I should pray when I go to mass… I will try next time….”
Exposed as they now were at the edge of the bridge, Margery’s teeth started chattering.
“Oh, come now, hurry,” propelling Emma in front of her towards the town gate. “We can get some heat at Saint Jonys Gate, the braziers will be red hot by now.
Emma found herself being pushed almost to running as Margery kept up the pressure. Soon they landed within the gate arches.
Emma was amazed and appalled in equal measure as Margery went close to the brazier as if it was her natural born right, smiling thanks at the guards as they stepped back into the cold.
Margery must know all the hot places around town, is that something I should consider for the shop? Heated stones, more braziers? Might attract more customers. She is right. It is time for me to take more interest in comforts at Fenwick Hall.
“Wake up, Emma,” she was brought back to the present with a start. Margery plainly had her fill of the heat.
“You were in another land… Do we search for our Goldsmith?”
Rubbing her forehead for a moment thinking, Emma replied “There are three on Brode Strete, that I know, do you know any others?”
At the mention of gold the guards showed interest in their conversation. Giving them a cold stare, Margery indicated for Emma to follow her into the alcove of a nearby dwelling.
“What were you saying about Goldsmiths?”
“I know there are three on Brode Strete, do you know any others?”
“There is a small one, on Smale Strete, but… ” Margery wagged her palm indicating that he might be light of finger when dealing.
“Mine first then, over there, third door down.”
They knocked at the door, waited to be allowed to enter. There was the sound of footsteps approaching the door from within. A youngish man opened a spy hole asking for their business, but on seeing Mistress Emma, he quickly unbolted the many bolts and ushered them into a warm, glowing interior. Apprentices hammered and cut precious metals, with every last grain collected – none were wasted. The glow from the braziers was reflected in the gold giving the impression of a well-run, respectable establishment. Emma felt immediately at home, relaxing with a long drawn-out sigh of comfort.
A tall angular man approached. “Mistress Emma, you are indeed welcome, it has been such a long time. How are you coping?” he wrung his hands appearing sympathetic, although the sympathy did not spread to his face. An off-putting, shallow expression.
“Master,” Margery interrupted, “we are searching for…” interrupting herself as she produced the drawing from somewhere within her voluminous cloak, “for… someone who uses this symbol to authenticate their work.”
“Mistress Emma, tell me you did not buy from this… this person.”
“If you can tell me who it is, then I will be able to say. Is he one of your fellow smiths here on Brode Strete?”
“No, most certainly not. He does business over by Smale Strete,” with the emphasis on Smale associating it with some very low order of merchant. “I earnestly pray that you do not engage with him.”
“It is not a problem, we simply need some information about… certain things.”
He folded the parchment slowly, handing it back to Margery, but his concerned look remained on his face.
“Mistress Emma, if you require information regarding any gold, silver trinkets or precious stones… you know I will give you accurate appraisal, I will not lead you astray.”
Embarrassed now, Emma was not sure how to reply.
“Have no fear, my good Master Goldsmith, it is I who needs information. Information on some items that… shall we say, items that seem misplaced.”
“Oh, I am so much relieved. You are on the correct path to suspect that particular individual. But, Mistress Emma, still I warn you… As a precaution, bring Ned with you as… male company. It will be safer. I saw him not long ago pass on his way towards the bridge. No doubt on his way to Keynsham, he has associates there.”
Margery was growing tired of this continuing fawning and male protection, she made their hurried excuses, and almost pushed Emma ahead of her, promising to return in the near future to examine some of his beautiful fine work.
As they heard the heavy bolts slip back into place, Margery smiled at Emma “Have no fear, your integrity is still intact… though not sure about mine!”
“Oh, I think you will weather that particular storm…”
“On the good side, we are moving forward, no resolution, but no setback either.”
“This Smale Strete goldsmith sounds like he might cause trouble?”
“You think, the advice was strong – don’t go there, I agree.”
“You heard of this smith in the past. Is he dangerous, what did you hear.”
“Nothing at all like that. More, if you wanted to purchase quality stones or fine gold-work with less coin, and be not concerned about the previous owner, then…” she left the sentence unfinished, letting the implications hover in the air like a dust mote on a bright day.
“Well then, let us go to him tomorrow and check his mark. Maybe he will shed some light on why Edmund had half his token.”
“Agreed. And today?”
“The dyers. We still need to find out if they know our Guild-Master’s mistress.”
At the dyers’ yard the air was thick with the tang of wet wool and lye. Steam rose from the vats. Margery was greeted warmly enough, but the moment the dyers saw Emma, their faces cooled. Whispers rippled among the women.
“That’s her,” someone said. “The Fenwick widow. She’s the cause of it all.”
They crowded around Margery, but shunned Emma completely. Margery, noticing the tension and battle lines being drawn, called for quiet. “Let my friend talk… please.”
“All of you are right, I did wrong and I admit to it. I wish I never started. This morning I went to Friar Jacob for advice and…” searching her pouch she extracted his token, “he gave me this.” He said solemnly to us, if any man stands in your way, use this token, I think he meant it for women as well. I am not Thom’s enemy, I want to make amends and save him.”
The token quietened even the coarsest of them. It would not be good to oppose the church, especially the Greyfriars who preached the torment of hell.
“I accept completely that I did wrong… but please, just listen. I did not conjure up that name… it was given me.”
“What do you want from us now?” one of the women asked with more than a hint of malice.
“We are searching for anyone who can act as a witness for Thomas, to prove he was elsewhere.”
“We all know where he was. At the cockfight, but who will believe us?”
Margery felt that, she would have a closer link with the women, not tainted by Thom’s arrest.
“Mistress Emma is correct, we need a witness, a man of substance whose voice cannot be denied and we think we know just the man.”
This got their attention. Emma was now forgotten, all eyes on Margery.
“We hear a rumour that a man, and a woman, were on Corne Strete and may have seen the murder.”
No one spoke, waiting for more.
“There was only a glimpse of the woman, but enough to know that she is the Wine Guild-Master’s mistress. Do any of you know where we can find her?”
“Wait now, when we gave the name Thomas, what happened?”
“Yes, yes, I know, but this is different, don’t you see?”
“Different? The same. You want us name another, so she may hang in his place? Not a bargain we’d take, mistress.” She spat on the ground.
Emma remembered her mother once saying that the most difficult conversations went one step forward and two steps back – this reminded her of such a conversation.
“Please goodwives, please help us. What can we say? You are the only people we know who might help.”
Some of the women appeared to be sympathetic, but there was a core who were yet to be swayed, and they were the important core. The women drifted away, talking amongst themselves, with the odd look back at Emma and Margery who were equally in quiet talk, trying to gauge the mood. Finally, the huddle broke up and the obvious leader spoke.
“We will give you a name, the name of the woman. You cannot pass it to the coroner.”
“Even if she is guilty?” Emma asked incredulously, but Margery hastened to quieten her tongue, indicating a need to listen, respectfully.
“Sorry for my friend’s interruption. Do you have more?”
“Yes, we do. Since you ask – even if you think she is guilty, you say nothing. Are we clear?”
Margery agreed immediately.
“Not you Mistress Margery, we want to hear it from Mistress Fenwick, out loud for all to hear and witness.”
Emma nodded her head.
“Emma, say it”, Margery hissed.
“Yes, I agree,” through gritted teeth.
“If the name is repeated to any in authority, then we will expose the Guild-Master and we will name you,” pointing at Emma, “as the person who identified him on the strete that night.”
“There is no cause to threaten me, I give you my word, the name will be safe.”
The murmurs deepened; someone spat into the dye-water. At last, one of them stepped forward, a younger girl with streaks of blue dye on her cheek.
“Alice. She saw it. Ask for Alice at the Cyder House, off Smale Strete. She’ll not thank us for it, but she was there.”
The bell of Saint Nicholas sounded None, the notes thin over the river.
“So… Alice,” Margery said as they left the dye house. “A name at last.”
“More than I dared hope for this morning.”
“We’ve made good progress – the goldsmith for the half-token, Alice for what? A witness, or the murderer?”
“Witness… maybe. Then who next? I feel weary of Alice, I don’t have the strength for her now.
“Emma, no.” Margery’s laugh was weary. “It’s past time to call on folk for a ‘chat’. They’ll not thank us for turning up after None. We stop now and start afresh tomorrow.”
By the set of her friend’s face, Emma knew an immovable rock when she saw one. She nodded and linked arms for the walk back to Fenwick Hall.
“Will your husband and children feel abandoned?”
“Ha! With my sister waiting on them hand and foot? They’ll weep when they finally see me come home. Let them have their fun; we’ll have ours.”
“We will,” Emma said. “This time we’ll do it properly… no false accusations… Even if time is not on our side. Only two nights left before the court sits.”
Margery sniffed at her fur-lined cloak. “Tell me this. Does it smell of dye?”
“To the heavens. Hmm, mine is just as bad. We’ll need Susan’s mercy when she smells it.”
“Ah, she’ll forgive us,” Margery smiled. “She’s a treasure, she is… She’ll have the broth waiting?”
But Emma’s mind was elsewhere.
“I was sure it was Catherine.”
“Then you shouldn’t have cleared her,” Margery teased. “Tomorrow we’ll find a better suspect for you.”
“And it mustn’t be Alice! Why did I tie my hands?”
“Don’t worry till worry is needed. Wait and see where Alice leads us first.”
Ciaran Leamy - Author 