A Maiden Weeping Read online

  Jack pushed his hood back and ran his hand through his curly hair. ‘It’s like this, Master Gilbert. I was helping to investigate a murder – another woman strangled. And I thought to m’self, “Aha! If I can prove the knave what done this, it will set my master free.” But the sheriff saw it different. Thought it was me doing the deed to throw the sheriffs off the scent of my master. I swear by my soul, Gilbert, that I’d never do such a thing!’

  ‘Oh, lad, I know that. Everyone what knows you knows that.’

  Jack nodded, relieved at the words.

  ‘They’re after me. I can’t go home. I’m asking most humbly if I can stay here. Well hidden, of course. I don’t want no trouble for you and yours.’ He glanced back at Isabel, nodding to her.

  Before Gilbert could speak, Ned ran up, catching himself on the doorway. ‘Master Gilbert. The sheriff is here to see you.’

  ‘The sheriff?’ He exchanged looks with Jack. ‘Jack, my lad. You go hide amongst the barrels. You know what to do.’

  Jack sprinted away into the shadows. The smell of musty wine and stale ale was stronger amid the weeping barrels. He almost shimmied into a tight place between them but thought better of it. Isn’t that the first place they’d look? He glanced upward to the top of the wide tuns and began to climb. Carefully, he hugged the barrel’s sides with his thighs, dug in with his fingers, and pulled himself up. He flattened himself across the top just as the sheriff stalked through the doorway.

  ‘You are the tavern keeper,’ bellowed Sheriff Walcote.

  Gilbert bowed. ‘Aye, my lord. Gilbert Langton.’

  ‘I am aware that you know well Crispin Guest and his miscreant apprentice. Is that boy here?’

  Gilbert shook his head in all sincerity. ‘No, my lord.’

  The sheriff moved closer, shoving his face close to Gilbert’s. ‘Do you know that if you are lying I can arrest you as an accessory … to murder?’

  ‘My lord, I give you my solemn oath. That boy is not in my tavern.’

  The sheriff snorted, eyes narrowed. He turned his gaze to Isabel, who cowered next to her uncle. ‘What about you, lass? Have you seen that boy? Remember, it is a sin to lie and believe me, you would not want to be tossed to the fires of Hell for the likes of that knave.’

  She looked up at Gilbert with eyes bright as bezants.

  Ah, Jack, you’re doomed! She’s such an innocent creature. She won’t be able to lie. And he didn’t want her to. He didn’t want her to suffer for him. The sheriff might even strike her, and he could not have that sin on his soul. He flattened his hands on the barrel, getting ready to rise, when he heard her in a clear voice say, ‘No, good my lord. I have seen no one.’

  ‘Jack Tucker? Hard to miss. Tall boy with bright ginger hair? You say you haven’t seen him?’

  She looked the sheriff straight in the eye and never wavered. ‘No, my lord.’

  The sheriff scowled, looking for all the world as if he might draw back his arm and hit her anyway. Jack didn’t know what he would do if that happened. He’d surely jump on the sheriff’s back and beat him … until he was torn off him by the serjeants and either beaten to a pulp himself or thrown in gaol, dead for sure.

  But Walcote did nothing more than spin on his heel, march up the steps, and was gone.

  Isabel crept up the stairs and slowly peered out. She turned back. ‘You can come out now, Master Tucker.’

  Jack jumped up and slid down the side of the barrel, landing squarely on his feet. He rushed up to Isabel, eyes tracking over her face. ‘You were as brave as a saint!’

  She smiled charmingly. ‘It’s easy to lie to a villain. He deserves no less.’

  ‘Demoiselle, I am ever in your debt.’ He bowed.

  Her smile had not faded. ‘I’ll remember that.’

  ‘Here now,’ said Gilbert, a worried look to his face. ‘You leave Jack be. Will you stay here in the mews, Jack?’

  ‘For tonight at least, Master Gilbert, if it contents you. Tomorrow I must continue to investigate for my master. But, er … might I trouble you for a scrap of food and mayhap a little ale? It’s parching work, tracking.’

  Gilbert laughed and put his hand on Isabel’s slender shoulder. ‘Of course, lad. Now stay out of sight. There are too many eyes who would love to get their palms greased by the sheriff.’

  Jack took his advice. And later, Isabel brought him a tray of meat. He would have liked it if Isabel had stayed to talk with him, but Eleanor came looking for her. She gave Jack a squinted eye and Isabel scurried away. At nightfall, he wrapped himself in his cloak, tucked himself into a dark corner, and promptly fell asleep.

  Come morning, he stretched, ate the hardened bread from the night before, drank the ale in the jug, and prepared himself to depart. His hand was poised to grab the latch when the door suddenly yanked open. He might have made an unmanly yelp, but Isabel only looked a bit startled. She stood there, a basin of water held in both hands, with a towel draped over her shoulder. ‘I thought you might like to wash. Before you left.’

  ‘Ah, demoiselle. I thank you.’ He took the basin from her and retreated back down the steps. He placed the basin on the table, and by the time he turned, she was there, offering him the towel.

  He unbuttoned and rolled up his coat sleeves and sluiced his face. He wiped his cheeks and brows with the cloth, then dipped his finger in the basin to brush his teeth, scrubbing them dry with a corner of the towel. ‘I thank you, demoiselle …’

  ‘You can call me Isabel. I mean … after all. I heard that you and Master Crispin are here often. It … it seems foolish to remain formal under those circumstances.’

  ‘Aye. I agree. You …’ He stepped closer, looking down at her. Her hair was combed and parted in the middle, partially covered in a brightly clean linen kerchief. ‘You can call me … Jack. That wouldn’t go amiss.’

  She raised her eyes to him once, before lowering them. She hid the action by gathering the basin and crumpled towel. ‘Where do you go now?’

  ‘Well, there is a house to which I must go to and question the people inside.’ He sighed. ‘But I am vexed that the sheriff might be waiting for me there. God’s blood! But I must talk to them people!’

  ‘Could I …’ She bit her bottom lip. ‘Could I help?’

  A ‘no’ was on the tip of his tongue. But as he thought about it – took in her angelic face, its fresh purity – he thought about what the steward of the household might say to her, to a pretty, young face. ‘Well now. That’s a thought, demois— Isabel. But we must talk first to Gilbert. He may not wish for you to help me. It’s dangerous work, sometimes. Oftentimes, I am running for me life.’

  ‘I can run,’ she said. She raised her face to his, hazel eyes bright.

  Slowly he returned her smile. ‘I’ll wager you can at that. Come, then.’ He urged her forth, and he followed her up the stairs and into the warm tavern. Eleanor was taking coins from a patron when she looked up and spied them. Her brows immediately lowered and she clutched the coins in her fist, grabbed her skirts, and marched toward them.

  ‘Uh oh,’ Jack muttered. He straightened his posture to greet her, and when she was before him he bowed formally. ‘I thank you, Mistress Eleanor, for succoring me last night when I sorely needed it. I will convey your generosity to Master Crispin.’

  ‘None of that now,’ she said, smacking his shoulder. ‘Don’t you try that on me, Jack Tucker. I know what part of London you are from, no mistaking. What are the two of you doing together?’

  ‘Begging your pardon, madam, but we are not “together”, as you say. Mistress Langton here was merely leading the way. We wish to talk to you and Gilbert if it’s convenient.’

  She drilled her glare into him before she raised her chin and bellowed, ‘Gil-bert!’

  It was early and there were few patrons, but heads turned. Gilbert rumbled up, looking the trio over. ‘What’s amiss?’

  ‘Are you aware that your niece is consorting with Tucker, here?’

  He laughed. ‘The
lad isn’t ‘consorting’, my love. He’s a guest. And she is being properly hospitable.’

  But even as the words left his mouth, Isabel drew forward. ‘Uncle, Jack needs my help. He cannot do his job to help his master and I offered to go with him.’

  Gilbert drew back, looking at the two anew. ‘What?’ He shook his head, his jowls jiggling. ‘No, lass. That’s not proper work for the likes of you.’ And then he swung on Jack. ‘Did you propose this to her?’

  ‘Well …’ He looked from one angry adult to the other. ‘Well … she … she understands my predicament, Master Gilbert. She offered. It seemed like a good idea … at the time. But I know there are dangers. And so, as I said, Isabel—’

  ‘“Isabel” is it?’ muttered Gilbert.

  ‘I told her we must ask your permission. And I see you will not grant it. No harm done, then.’ He bowed to Isabel. ‘I thank you for your kind offer, demoiselle. But I must try to do this on me own. Thank you Gilbert, Eleanor, for your hospitality. God grant that I will be safe tonight.’ He swept them all with a glance. ‘Farewell, then.’

  He pivoted on his heel, tossed his hood up over his head, and strode to the door. He hovered in the doorway, looking both ways down the street to see if the sheriff’s men hid there. He pulled the hood down lower to shadow his face, ducked his head, and plunged into the street. He had to get into the Peverel household somehow. And then he’d have to go back to those places where the women had been strangled.

  He took the roundabout way to Trinity Street and stopped at the corner, peering around the edge of a shop. The street was filling with shopkeepers, shoppers, and other townsfolk. He saw no livery and gave a sigh of relief. He was about to step out to the main thoroughfare when a man came out of the shadows. A serjeant. He wore the sheriffs colors and he was scanning the street. Jack drew back around the corner and pressed his back against the wall. God’s blood! Just as he thought. They were lying in wait for him. How was he to get in now?

  A hand suddenly on his arm caused him to whip around, knife drawn.

  ‘God’s blood! Isabel, don’t do that! What are you doing here?’

  ‘I came to help.’

  ‘Your uncle changed his mind?’ Her eyes flicked away. ‘He didn’t!’ Grabbing her arm he marched her back down the lane. ‘You’re going back, do you hear? Your uncle is a man of honor and if he says no, no is what he meant.’

  She wrenched her arm away and stood her ground, hands at her hips. ‘You don’t tell me what to do! Everyone has my best interests at heart! Fie! When my father died, all my relatives were so solicitous, all trying to tell me what to do, which way to turn. Looking to get their hands on his money, more like.’ She leaned back against the wall and bit at a nail. ‘When my mother died all those years ago,’ she said quietly, ‘I took over the duties of mistress of the household. It wasn’t as if I was a simpleton. I was ten! And I did it right well. My father told me so. Did the books … with his help. But now that he’s gone, I couldn’t very well shift for myself. And I couldn’t run the cooperage on my own. Uncle Gilbert was the only one who gave me a place and put me to work, without thinking first about what he was to gain from it. He never mentioned my dowry, never tried to take it. And by all rights he could have. But of all of them, he’s most like my father, is Uncle Gilbert. Though he’s never had a child, never knew what willful beasts we can be, he’s been kind. I do as he says because he is kind to me. But I am myself and for many years I decided. I’m fifteen, after all. I’ve used my own head for years.’

  Jack studied her. ‘Willful beast’ was right! But more like a … a cat, going her own way. He couldn’t help but smile and turned away to hide it. ‘But no one wants a shrewish wife.’

  ‘I’m no shrew. I’m … resourceful. I’ve survived my mother’s death and now my father’s. And I’ll go on. And I’ll be obedient to my aunt and uncle because of their kindness. But not in all things.’

  ‘I’m an orphan, too,’ he said quietly, half an eye on the street around them. ‘Master Crispin took me in. He lets me have me own mind, too, though I obey him because he’s clever and knows the ways of the world. But you being a girl, well. That’s not the same, is it? Your uncle is a fine and honorable man. It’s well and good to have your own mind – you’ll need it when you run the Boar’s Tusk someday. But for now, you are his niece, his ward, and you must obey. Scripture teaches us that the woman must heed the man of the house. In the Lord woman is not independent of man.’

  ‘… Nor man of woman, so it also says.’

  ‘Ah, lass. You know your Scripture.’ Too well. ‘Harken. The point is, you must obey your uncle as if he were your father.’ He folded his arms over his chest, thinking. The fact of the matter was, she was here now. And he needed her. The rest could be sorted later. ‘Very well. You must deal with your uncle and accept his punishment for your disobedience.’

  She appeared sullen and cast her eyes downward.

  ‘But I do need you, Isabel. And I thank God for your presence.’

  Brightening, she lifted her face to his. Something in his chest shifted, thumped. He blinked it away and looked back toward the corner. ‘The sheriff’s men are expecting me alone. But with you, they will not be looking too close. I hope. Will you … will you go with me?’

  ‘Yes! That’s what I’m here for.’

  He secured his hood and helped her adjust her kerchief to cover more of her face. With head down, he wove his arm in hers, and plunged onto Trinity. They walked at a steady pace. Jack glanced up carefully from under his hood toward the sheriff’s man. The serjeant’s gaze swept over them and continued on, searching. Jack sent up a prayer of thanks before they approached the Peverel household. He knocked and waited. With the sly movement of his other hand, he crept Isabel’s kerchief back, revealing more of her face. She looked at him questioningly when the door opened.

  The steward noted Jack first and then Isabel, where his gaze fastened.

  ‘We are here to see the mistress of the household,’ said Jack urgently.

  The steward gave him only cursory attention. ‘And whom shall I say calls?’

  ‘The Tracker’s apprentice.’

  His head snapped toward Jack and appraised him anew. ‘I see. I was told by the sheriff’s men to alert them should you come to the door.’

  ‘I beg you, sir, do not. For we are here on an errand of mercy. To discover a foul murderer. An innocent man’s life hangs in the balance. And the sheriffs care nothing for that.’

  The steward’s level gaze measured them. He nodded. ‘This I know. Word has it that the Tracker himself is being tried for a murder this very day.’

  ‘I knew it! I knew the sheriffs wouldn’t wait. Do you see that, sir? Who gets a trial two days after they’re arrested, eh? Only a man the sheriffs are trying to put away. Do you see how urgent is my cause, sir?’

  ‘Then make haste inside. For the sheriff’s serjeant is looking this way.’

  Jack dared not look over his shoulder. Instead, he grasped Isabel’s arm tightly and shoved her inside, following quickly on her heels.

  The steward told them to wait in the foyer and they stood. Jack was still clutching Isabel’s arm and quickly released her. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled.

  She looked all around the foyer and then settled her gaze on Jack. ‘This is like my father’s house, but his was much smaller.’

  ‘If you had such fine things, why did you come to Gilbert’s to live? Could they not have come to yours, taken over your father’s business?’

  ‘Uncle Gilbert doesn’t know the coopering trade and neither did I. Not enough of it. My father needed sons, but got only me. The household items were sold to pay his debts and the rest – what little there was – was granted to my nearest relative – my uncle. He put it away for my dowry.’

  ‘Then you are blessed indeed. Well, I mean …’

  ‘I know what you mean. It could have gone worse for me. Uncle Gilbert and Aunt Eleanor are good to me.’

  They stood in silence
for a moment before she asked, ‘Why did you pull my kerchief back when you were so careful to push it forward before?’

  ‘Ah. Well, I knew the steward would be distracted by your beauty.’

  She made a little gasp, eyes wide.

  Jack felt his cheeks warming. ‘And … it worked.’

  He said nothing more, but he felt her sharp gaze upon him.

  The steward returned and told them to follow. Jack sensed Isabel behind him and now he felt like a proper fool. You didn’t just blurt out to a lass that she was a beauty! Of all the addle-pated things to do! You were supposed to woo her slowly, carefully. That’s what Master Crispin had told him when he had asked about it.

  Wait. Was he wooing her? She was no wench to bed for a simple tumble and then leave behind. This was Gilbert’s niece. She was untouchable. At least in the carefree manner of his master with women.

  But what if she was for wooing? A man had to settle down someday. And she seemed like a good prospect for a man like Jack. Surely his master would approve. But what of Gilbert?

  He tucked those thoughts away for later consideration when they passed through a solar into a garden. A woman sat at her embroidery stand. A red squirrel with a bejeweled collar and silver leash was perched upon her shoulder, gnawing on an acorn.

  ‘Madam Peverel. The Tracker’s apprentice, Jack Tucker.’

  Jack raised his brows. He had not given his name but realized that the sheriff’s serjeant might have mentioned it. Either that or his own infamy was tied to that of the Tracker’s.

  Madam Peverel looked up for only a moment, taking him in and then Isabel, before she returned her attention to her embroidery. ‘I have already spoken to your master, Master Tucker. Why are you here?’

  ‘Madam, my master is in great peril. He was only seeking the truth in the matter of the death of Elizabeth le Porter but he was accused of her murder instead. Please, madam. To save him I need answers.’

  Slowly she put down her needle and turned in her chair. The squirrel hopped down to her lap, where she stroked it absently. But being an excitable creature, the squirrel could only rest but a moment before it leapt to her shoulder and then a platform. ‘What can I tell you that I did not already tell your master?’