A Mortal Bane(105)

“Matching.” He fingered the samples she had given him and sighed. “If I raised the price to thirty shillings?”

Behind her veil, Magdalene smiled. “Keep the piece I gave you and show it with the other two. Then ask for fifty or sixty shillings and let the buyer wear you down.”

He sighed again. “You are too aware of your own worth or not hungry enough,” he said. “All right. Forty shillings, and let me have the design for it before next Monday. And let me keep these samplers. There are customers who cannot afford your work and might be content with these.”

The smile he could not see broadened. If she got many more orders for embroidery—the mercer across the street had asked if she had any more he could sell—she and her women could make their claim to be embroiderers genuine, except that they could not pay the rent nor enjoy the kind of life they had as whores. Nonetheless, she thanked the mercer and agreed to leave the samplers with him.

With her pay in her pocket, little though it was compared with what she took each week for her women’s work, Magdalene felt a strong temptation to shop. It was as if the money she made as an embroideress was not real and called out to be used for pleasure.

She found a soft, gold-colored cap. Hanging from it were thin metal chains interset with bright stones; those would shine and flash through Letice’s dark hair and lend an additional exotic touch while she danced. For Sabina, she chose a shawl of a soft, fine wool of a delicate rose color. Many of Sabina’s clients wanted peace and comfort; that she should look like a woman beside a cozy fire was all to the good, and Sabina would relish the softness. For Ella, she picked a thin shift with delicate openwork around the neck and bright ribbon bows to show above a low-necked gown; the trailing ends of the bows would lie to each side of her high breasts and mark out their strong rise. And for Dulcie, a good white-linen head veil.

For herself, she bought fine wide ribbons, and hanks of thin thread spun so tightly that they shone. She smiled as she tucked those away with the brass torchette holders; she had bought only materials for her work and to adorn her house. It was too dangerous to adorn herself.

The sadder mood that such thoughts brought was dissipated as soon as she arrived at home just before dinner and heard that Bell had come after all. Magdalene was rather ashamed at the difference the news made in her feelings, and merely nodded. Sabina volunteered that he had not stayed long. He had said he must attend Baldassare’s burial that morning and that he would try to go to St. Paul’s afterward, as Magdalene had asked.

St. Paul’s. Then he had believed her message and did intend to question Beaumeis, but it was likely too late now to extract extra truth from him, even if he had actually been shocked and shaken by the news of Baldassare’s murder. It seemed more possible now that Beaumeis had committed the crime and his display of grief was over-pretending. She was annoyed at having been taken in, but few men bothered to pretend for a whore. Still, she should have realized the shock he showed had been too great to stem only from surprise and regret at the death of a friend. That should have been more like Buchuinte’s reaction, which rang true.

Did it ring true, Magdalene wondered, suddenly critical. Buchuinte had said he was too upset to go to Ella, but he had lingered as though he wanted to be persuaded to stay. And he had had the opportunity to commit the murder. He had been there in her house at the same time as Baldassare. Nothing would have stopped him from going to the church instead of going home when he left Ella. Only, why should Buchuinte wish to kill Baldassare? Certainly not to keep the bull from Winchester or the letter from the king. Still, there could have been some personal matter, some insult or crime Buchuinte had learned of since Baldassare’s last visit. Magdalene shuddered, pushed the thought away, and displayed the gifts she had bought.