A Mortal Bane(103)

“Yes, I will tell Sir Bellamy and the bishop. You may be sure I will,” Guiscard said.

Magdalene left the bishop’s house better satisfied than she expected to be after she heard the servant say that Bell was out. Ordinarily she did not trust Guiscard de Tournai. When she had been in the process of restoring the Old Priory Guesthouse and had needed Winchester’s approval for changes she wished to make, messages she had sent by Guiscard to the bishop had never reached him, or had been long delayed.

This time she believed what she wanted fit so well with what Guiscard thought was his own advantage that she was sure her message would be transmitted—and as soon as possible. Of course it might be garbled into something she had never said, but since Bell would surely come to find out what she had learned from Beaumeis, she could untangle any knots Guiscard had tied in the truth.

She took the long way home, knowing it would be impossible for a woman to enter the priory without identifying herself. She would not be welcome, and even if the porter admitted her, she could not get home through the back gate, which was supposed to be locked. Not that she minded the walk; she needed the exercise. She had hardly been out of the house except for her visit to the bishop since Baldassare’s death. Well, she had all but finished her embroidery commission. Perhaps tomorrow she would take it to the mercer in the East Chepe.

Having arrived at the Old Guesthouse and closed the gate behind her, Magdalene looked at the bell cord, thought of the purse William had left, and smiled. She was just about to turn her back and leave the cord inside when she remembered the message she had left for Bell. She glanced at the sun and decided she could not leave the cord inside. There was time enough for Bell to come.

He did not come, however, neither that afternoon nor even after the evening meal, by which time Magdalene was sure he would have returned to the bishop’s house. She was furious, one moment calling herself a fool for having trusted Guiscard to do anything right, and the next, calling herself a worse fool for believing Bell would respond when she—a known whore—asked him to come. She was even more ashamed and enraged because she had waited long after dark, after Ella and Letice had gone to bed…and he had not come.





Chapter Fourteen



25 April 1139





East Chepe, London;





Later, Old Priory Guesthouse



[page]One good thing came of Magdalene’s fruitless waiting for Bell—she finished her embroidery. The next morning when Bell still had not appeared after they had had breakfast, she wrapped her work in a clean cloth, swathed her head and face in her veil, and set out for the East Chepe. It was a long walk, across the bridge and up Fish Street to the Chepe, but since both sides of the bridge were lined with stalls selling all kinds of baubles, trinkets, and household wares, Magdalene did not mind a bit.

The cries of the vendors calling people to their stalls mingled with those of the sellers of sugared fruits and flowers, of hot breads, rolled savories, and yes, less fortunate women of her own profession. Not that one could concentrate solely on the proffered wares. Traffic moved along the center of the bridge, and a failure to dodge brought shrieks and curses and could result in bruises or real injury if one were too absentminded.

Magdalene bought a cup of violets in crystallized honey. Dulcie’s were probably better, but there was a kind of joy in having a half farthing to spend and knowing she would not need to sacrifice some other desire.

That made the fruit all the sweeter. She stopped to look at embroidered bands ready to be sewn onto the collars and facings of gowns and shook her head firmly at the mercer’s apprentice. They were poor things compared with her own work. Even Ella could do better.