A Mortal Bane(121)

Bell, who had been silently considering the interview with William of Ypres and unable to decide what he felt about it, turned his head sharply. “Are you telling me I am not welcome, that one of Lord William’s men would be preferable to you?”

“I am telling you that my women and I do not need a guard.”

“I do not believe you—and you do not believe it, either. Why do you not want me? Because you are William of Ypres’s woman?”

“I am no man’s woman, not William of Ypres’s, not yours, not anyone’s. I am a whore. I am every man’s woman. William knows that, and until you know it, too, I do not want you in my house, glowering at my clients and making them uncomfortable.”

“I thought you told me you were retired.” His voice was low, ice-cold with rage.

“Whether I am or not makes no difference,” she flung back defiantly. “I am a free woman, femme sole in law, nor will I have any ado with any man who thinks I can be his alone and wishes to deny me to other men.”

The answer left him speechless, not with surprise because she had said as much before, but because he realized he had nothing he could offer as an inducement for her to give up her freedom. “I will protect you” was exactly what she was trying to avoid.

They had reached the bridge without speaking again and both started when a voice called a challenge. A lifted lantern showed a shock of filthy, unkempt hair, a raised cudgel, several dimmer forms behind. Bell called his name, identified himself as the Bishop of Winchester’s man, said that he and his companion had been unexpectedly delayed. He named the sheriff of Southwark. The Watchman waved him on. At the other side of the bridge, Tom the Watchman knew Magdalene well, and they were spared further delay.

At her door, Bell jumped down and helped her to the ground. As she pulled the bell rope, he asked, “Are any of the clients who are due tomorrow yours?”

“It happens not,” she replied coldly, “but I cannot swear that one to whom I owe a favor will not arrive. In any case, it is none of your business.”

He smiled faintly. “In this case, it is. If you do not take any client to your bed, I can promise that I will not glower at them, nor even feel disapproving. And I really think that until this matter of Baldassare and his pouch is resolved, you should have a man to answer your gate.”

As if to prove his statement, Sabina’ s voice, wavering with nervousness, called, “Who is there?”

“Bell and Magdalene,” he answered.

[page]“Oh, thank God,” Sabina cried, and they heard the key in the lock.

“What has happened, love?” Magdalene asked, pushing the gate open as soon as the latch lifted and taking a trembling Sabina into her arms.

“Nothing,” Sabina replied with a sob. “But I am frightened to death and cannot seem to calm myself.”

Behind her, Dulcie stood holding her long-handled pan. “Ella’s as bad,” she said. “When she ‘eard th’ bell, she ran in ‘er room ‘nd pulled th’ covers over ‘er ‘ead. ‘Nd Letice’s been out twice wit’ eyes big’s servin’ plates.”

“You win,” Magdalene said to Bell. “We will make up the room you asked questions in. I hope you will keep your promise.”

The question remained unanswered, largely because there was no challenge to it. Bell drove the cart back to the Bishop of Winchester’s stable, took his horse and armor and clothing from his lodging, and returned to the Old Priory Guesthouse. There Dulcie and Magdalene had brought a bed down from the loft, set it up, and furnished it with a well-stuffed mattress and clean, if worn, linens and blankets. Since there were no other visitors that night and everyone was tired from tension and anxiety, they did not linger long after the evening meal but went to bed.