A Maiden Weeping Read online

Jack rubbed his fuzzed chin. ‘I could go back to them stews. See if any of them whores will testify.’

  ‘I have a better plan,’ said Crispin. ‘Shall we?’ He strode forward toward the empty doorway, and it only took a moment more for the perplexed lawyer and Jack to follow.

  Crispin headed toward Candlewick, and he wondered when or if his clever apprentice would catch on. He hadn’t long to wait once they turned at the street.

  ‘Oi, master! I see!’

  ‘Do you, Jack? How quick of you.’

  Cobmartin stared from one to the other. ‘I don’t. What mischief are we perpetrating, Master Crispin?’

  Jack laughed. ‘Just you wait and see, Nigellus.’

  They arrived at the wick maker’s shop and Crispin went first to the ladder and began to climb. Jack followed, and Cobmartin, tutting and muttering, followed in the rear.

  Crispin reached the top and knocked upon the shutter. He couldn’t be certain if his friend would be home, but then the shutter opened. John Rykener was dressed in men’s clothes, but only barely. His chemise was loose about his neck and came down only to his thighs. His stockings were tied to his braies, but he wore no shoes.

  ‘Crispin! Praise God! Then you are free. When did this happen?’

  ‘Greetings, John. News of my freedom is still premature. May I … we … come in?’

  John peered over the sill. ‘Jack Tucker. And … a friend? That’s quite a retinue for my humble lodgings. If you’ll wait but a moment, I have a … guest … who is leaving.’

  There was a rustle of the bedding, of clothing, and then a man, hastily dressing appeared at the window. ‘It’s a procession,’ he complained. But he stepped aside so that those entering could leave the ladder first.

  The man dropped a coin in Rykener’s hand, kissed his cheek, and scrambled out the window and down the ladder.

  ‘It’s busy this morn,’ John muttered and dropped his coin into a jar on a shelf, that clinked with many more coins. ‘I think I have some wine, but not enough cups. If you don’t mind sharing …’

  ‘Don’t bother, John. I have a proposal for you and it might be dangerous.’

  ‘Oh?’ He turned to his coffer and pulled out a cotehardie and laid it on the bed. ‘Sounds interesting.’

  ‘Pray, Master Crispin,’ said Cobmartin, ‘but who is this gentleman?’

  ‘Aren’t you kind,’ said John with a grin. ‘I’m hardly a gentleman.’ He reached forward with his hand. ‘John Rykener. Erm … embroider-er.’

  ‘I am Nigellus Cobmartin. Lawyer.’

  John let his hand go. ‘I’m not being sued, am I?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Well then, you won’t mind if I dress?’

  ‘Hold, John,’ said Crispin. ‘We might need you to dress in your … other clothes.’

  With his hand on his hip and his eyes narrowed, he gazed at Crispin sidelong. ‘And just what does that mean, Master Guest?’

  ‘Well, there is a man who is murdering women. Whores, for the most part. He, er, he strangles them. As I understand it, he does not mean to kill, but enjoys sometimes going too far when he is engaged in his … doings.’

  ‘Oh,’ said John quietly. ‘I’ve heard of him. I know those women. Some who will never allow his patronage again. They were frightened out of their wits. But I’ve also heard of … the others. They were not so fortunate.’

  ‘Yes. And it is this man who murdered the woman I am accused of killing. But he is an alderman, and the sheriffs are reluctant to arrest him without ironclad evidence.’

  ‘I see. And?’

  ‘Well. John, with your unique talents and your unique attire, we were hoping you might be persuaded to … entice him into a trap.’

  ‘Risk my neck for yours?’ His tapered fingers covered his neck, and it was a long moment until his face broke into a smile. ‘But of course I’ll do it. You need only ask, Crispin. You’ve always done me a good turn.’

  The lawyer still seemed perplexed. ‘I don’t understand, Master Crispin. How can this gentleman help?’

  ‘Master Rykener is more than an embroiderer. Actually, he’s an embroideress. I have seldom seen him attired as a man, for he much prefers his “Eleanor” persona.’

  Cobmartin blinked. Jack leaned toward him and whispered rather loudly in his ear, ‘He dresses as a woman and plays the whore.’

  ‘Thank you for that clarification, Jack,’ said Rykener with a smirk. He knelt by his coffer and sorted through it, finally dragging out a gown. ‘Crispin, if you will help me.’

  Crispin scowled. Wasn’t that just like Rykener to make a contest of it? His constant flirting wore on him, but Crispin supposed the man was doing him a great favor and putting himself in danger.

  ‘Very well,’ he grumbled. ‘But this is the only time.’

  John chuckled. ‘I’ll wager you’ve never helped a woman on with her gown.’

  ‘John,’ he warned.

  Rykener was silent as he donned his clothing, allowing Crispin to lace him up the back. ‘There!’ Crispin stood back while Rykener handily arranged his hair into a coif.

  ‘Such a transformation!’ Cobmartin seemed impressed.

  John turned toward him and curtseyed. ‘Do you think it good enough to trap an alderman?’

  Crispin helped him on with his cloak. ‘John, I sincerely hope so.’

  But now was the problem of finding the man and luring him to their web. They traveled to the stews they knew he patronized, but there was no word of him there. Yet word had traveled about what had been revealed at Crispin’s trial. Not that it wasn’t already well known on London’s streets. But it might have made Gernon less likely to venture forth. And just as Crispin suspected, the women refused to testify, for there were many alderman as their patrons, and their silence was bought just as their time was.

  Crispin made a sound low in his throat.

  Rykener glanced at him. ‘Did you just growl? I must say, it was very appealing.’

  ‘Stop it, John. We need to find this man.’

  ‘Has anyone tried his house?’

  They all looked at him. It was growing later and later, and they had gone everywhere but the needle maker’s shop.

  ‘What do you plan on doing?’ said Jack with a skeptical tone. ‘Knock on his door and ask for a tumble?’ Crispin well knew Jack had a difficult time accepting John as a friend though John had been one of Crispin’s first true friends on the Shambles.

  John glanced at him sidelong. ‘No, Young Jack. I intend a far more subtle approach. After all, he does sell needles. I am an embroideress.’

  ‘Oh.’ Jack deflated and knitted his brows.

  They found the shop, and Crispin and company held back across the lane in the shadows of an alley. Before John left them he said, ‘If I am successful, I will signal you by opening a window. Since I am unsure which window that will be, I suggest you surround the house as best you can. Young Jack, perhaps you will scale the wall since your master is getting on in years.’

  ‘I beg your pardon!’

  John smiled, but the smile soon faded. ‘Forgive me, Crispin. It is only my nervousness that makes me jest so.’

  ‘Don’t worry, John. I won’t let anything happen to you. You are brave to do this for me. I shall not forget it.’

  ‘Please,’ he said touching his throat again. ‘That sounds too much like an epitaph.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Well, into the snake pit I go!’

  Rykener crossed the lane, skirting carts and people with their animals and packages. If Crispin did not know who it was, he would imagine the person in the gown to be a woman.

  ‘Jack,’ said Crispin, ‘make your way round the house to the other side.’

  ‘Aye, master. Will you be here?’

  ‘Close by.’

  ‘This will never work,’ said Nigellus as Jack trotted away. ‘Surely Gernon will know he is a man.’

  Crispin sighed and leaned back against the alley wall. The daub smelled of mildew and was rough, pulling at the
weave of his woolen cloak. ‘There are men, my dear Nigellus, who care not whether they lay with a woman or a man as long as they get their satisfaction.’

  ‘Dear me. And this man is a friend of yours?’

  ‘Though I little understand this aspect of his character, there is no more loyal man or caring friend than John Rykener … unless he be named Jack Tucker.’

  Nigellus studied him with a thoughtful expression. ‘You do surround yourself with … interesting people, Master Crispin.’

  ‘I have to say,’ he said, measuring the street and the best place to watch the house, ‘that my associates are far more interesting now than they ever were in my former life. Whether that is a compliment or not is left to the observer. Look.’ He pointed. John entered the shop and appeared to be greeted by Gernon himself. Crispin’s hand went to his dagger instinctively. And then John disappeared within. ‘Now we wait. I suggest you stay here, Nigellus. I shall explore the area.’

  Crispin trotted across the lane and examined the two-story structure. A simple shop below, household above. Servants. Exterior kitchens. Extensive back garden. Several chimneys. A merchant’s home of some wealth. It still struck him as strange – even after all these years – that he should now be envious of a merchant!

  He waited, wondering if perchance he should find a way inside. Or at least into the shop … when he heard, ‘Psst!’ from around the corner. He saw just the tips of Jack’s red hair and made his way over. Jack pointed to a second story window. ‘I saw Master Rykener open yon shutters.’

  ‘I’ll be damned. He did it.’

  Jack shook his head. ‘I been on the streets a long time, master; seen a lot. But I’m still surprised every day.’

  ‘I know you don’t particularly like him, but he has served me well over the years. He was charitable to me when others were not.’

  Sheepishly, Jack lowered his face. ‘I know it, sir. He and I have come to an … er … understanding. He did right by both of us just last year. And I even borrowed writing things from him only a few days ago that I have yet to return. I … I admire him greatly, sir.’

  Taken aback, Crispin warmed. It appeared much had transpired in his absence. ‘I am heartened to hear that, Jack.’

  The boy said nothing more. He tilted his face upward toward the window, and Crispin watched it too for an agonizingly long while.

  ‘Jack,’ said Crispin, breaking the stillness that had fallen between them. ‘Why don’t you climb up there to see what’s going on?’

  That tore the boy from his musings. ‘Me?’ He grimaced. ‘Master, what if … what if …’

  ‘What if Master Rykener is already strangled to death and we did nothing?’

  ‘Aye. You have the right of it.’ He turned and immediately leapt up to the stone foundation and grabbed on. Then, like a rat, he scaled the wall, holding onto god-knew-what till he reached the stone sill. He grasped the edge of it and slowly pulled himself up enough so that only his eyes could peer over. He seemed to hang by one hand as he wildly gestured for Crispin.

  Crispin trotted over and didn’t wait. He climbed, and when he gained the sill he got the same eyeful as Jack. There was white naked buttocks and rutting, but more importantly, the man had his hands around John’s throat and seemed to be squeezing so tightly that John could make no sound. John began thrashing about, and that was enough for Crispin.

  He swung up over the window and landed squarely into the room. ‘Let that man go!’ he cried, brandishing his knife.

  Gernon startled back, his braies hanging around his knees. He fumbled, trying to draw them up. ‘What the devil … oh. It’s you, Guest.’

  Crispin saw Jack minister to a choking John, but was glad to see his friend was all right. Jack even helped to right his skirts.

  ‘Caught at last, Gernon. How many women have you similarly caused harm? How many have you killed? It stops now.’

  ‘You’re making a huge mistake, Guest. The sheriffs will never arrest me.’

  ‘Oh but they will. And it will be you on the gibbet, not me.’

  ‘They’ll never arrest me. What do I care for your little murder? Come now, Guest. You can surely admit to me that you did it. I above all men can understand the inclination.’ He stepped closer and smiled an oily grin. ‘Your hands around those white throats. The bruises, the marks left behind. Like rose petals on a white sheet.’

  Crispin sneered. ‘Shut it … or I’ll make you.’

  ‘You want to fit me into your little murder plot. I must say, it was amusing accusing you to the sheriffs, for I did see you as I was passing through, quite innocently, I assure you. But I tell you I never killed the bitch. Oh, I am glad she is dead, for her extortion plots are now dead, too. But I didn’t kill her. After that last night with her, she wouldn’t let me near her. And her neighbors seemed to guard her well.’

  ‘Why lie about it now? As my lawyer would say, you have been caught in flagrante delicto. With more dead women to condemn you in your wake.’

  ‘I tell you they will not arrest me. There is nothing you can do.’

  John stood unsteadily with Jack offering him a hand. ‘Give me a moment, Jack.’ He stepped away from Jack and walked on wobbly legs toward Gernon. When he stood before him Gernon sneered.

  ‘What do you want, wench? Your silver? Here.’ He reached into his scrip, took out a coin and flung it to the floor. It clinked and rolled away under an ambry.

  Rykener merely flicked a glance at it before turning his attention back to the man.

  Gernon huffed a breath. ‘Very well. I suppose I owe you more for your trouble.’ He took out two more coins and dropped them at John’s feet. John looked down.

  ‘You don’t think the sheriff will arrest you?’ John rasped hoarsely, neck red, voice as loud as he could get it. Crispin cringed at what had been inflicted upon his friend.

  ‘No. So you’d all best be out of my sight before I call in the law to arrest you for trespassing.’

  John nodded. ‘That’s what I was afraid of.’ He took a moment longer to stare at the unrepentant man before he cocked back his arm and punched Gernon square in the face. Blood gushed from his nose, and the man went down like a sack of turnips.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Monday, 19 October

  Bound and gagged, an enraged Richard Gernon was shoved down the lane by Crispin, John Rykener, Jack Tucker, and Nigellus Cobmartin. His bloody nose soaked the rag covering his mouth, and though it was an unusual sight, by virtue of Crispin’s presence no one seemed inclined to stop them. Crispin was surprised, in fact, by the show of support when the townspeople even waved at him.

  He had no time to consider it. They were in a hurry to secret Gernon at Grays Inn, but Crispin was wondering at the wisdom of it when the inn was yet so far away.

  He pressed them to cut down a narrow lane to an inn on Old Fish. He reckoned no one would bother them, especially at the disreputable inn he was thinking of.

  Old Fish was busy today. Yet as he suspected, no one paid them any heed. The fish mongers were busy selling their wares, and Crispin caught a snatch of one such fish seller’s swiftly moving hands with the deft slice of his blade as he fileted. Crispin stopped. The others stopped with him.

  ‘No,’ he told them. ‘Don’t wait for me. Jack, you make certain to get a room for our guest. I’ll be there anon. We’ll have a long night ahead of us, keeping watch of him before the morn.’

  Jack looked back quizzically at his master, and Crispin was surprised Jack did not voice his curiosity aloud, but perhaps the boy was used to Crispin’s ways.

  Crispin watched the workers in their shops for a good long time when it clicked into place like the pins in a lock once the key is turned. Of all the damned things …

  He took a deep breath before he hurried to catch up to his companions and prayed that tomorrow would come swiftly.

  Still bound and gagged, Gernon was marched into the Guildhall the next morning behind Crispin and John Rykener, who was attired for the occasion in his
men’s clothes.

  Jack had a determined look on his face. ‘Soon, master. Soon you’ll be free. We’ve got the churl at last!’ He shook the rope tied to Gernon in emphasis.

  Crispin leaned over toward Jack and whispered in his ear, ‘Unfortunately, he didn’t do it.’

  Jack pulled back. ‘What? Master Crispin …’

  ‘No time to explain now, Jack.’

  Crispin pulled the rope away from Jack. The boy froze, staring at him with lips parted. Someone behind the boy shoved him, and stumbling, Jack had no choice but to make his way toward the clerks with Cobmartin, questions stuck fast to his lips, while Crispin yanked his prisoner forth.

  When Tremayne saw who it was, he nearly choked on his wine. He leapt from his seat, cast his goblet to the ground, and stormed down the dais.

  ‘Guest, I thought I told you …’

  ‘And so you did, my lord. But a funny thing happened yesterday. We caught him in the act. And my lawyer suggested I question him in court.’

  Tremayne blinked, mouth open impotently. But in the end, he could do nothing but stomp back up the dais and take his place. The sheriffs were equally dumbfounded, though it was soon giving way to rage.

  Crispin shoved Gernon into the bar, where he bounced off it and spun ungainly before righting himself.

  Tremayne tensed back against the bench. ‘The third goddammed day of the trial of Crispin Guest commences,’ he snarled. ‘Untie and ungag that man at once, Guest!’

  Crispin drew his dagger and swiftly cut Gernon’s bonds. He took his time sawing the gag from his mouth.

  Gernon grabbed the gag in his fist and heaved it to the floor where he proceeded to spit. ‘My lords!’ he cried. ‘Is this how an alderman of the city is treated! I was abducted, snatched out of my own home, and kept against my will in the hands of Crispin Guest until forcibly brought here today. I ask you. Where is the justice for London’s honored citizens?’

  ‘Where indeed,’ Crispin answered. ‘I told you, my Lord Recorder that there were witnesses who told me and my apprentice in confidence about the deadly doings of Richard Gernon. And you further told me that unless I had hard, irrefutable evidence against him, that he may not be detained. Well, my lord, I do have that evidence. May I proceed?’