Sharon Penman - Cruel As the Grave

"Shadow, down!" The command was affectionately ignored and he turned his attention to the dog's escort. "Nell, I meant to reclaim him this morning, truly I did. I got in too late last night to-"

Nell waved aside his apology impatiently. "That matters for naught. Justin, you must make haste to dress, for-" She broke off, then, as Luke poked a tawny head from his blankets. "Is that you, Luke? This is indeed a stroke of good fortune!"

Luke yawned. "I am gladdened to see you again, too, Nell. But if you really want to win my heart, come back later. I try never to rise ere the sun does."

"The sun is well up in the sky," she insisted. "Even if it were not, your sleeping is over. I have need of you, Justin. Get this sluggard up and join me at the alehouse. I'll make breakfast and explain all. Do not tarry, though." Pausing at the door, she said darkly, "There has been murder done."

LONDON

April 1193

Nell ushered Justin and Luke into the alehouse's kitchen. "Here," she said, sliding a stale loaf of bread across the table. "Cut yourselves trenchers whilst I finish cooking the sausage."

Breakfast was the day's dubious meal, not quite respectable, for people were supposed to be able to satisfy themselves with a hearty dinner and a lighter supper. Hunger was a more powerful motivation than convention, though, and only a few stalwart souls did not break their night's fast with meat or cheese or roasted chestnuts. The aroma of frying sausage was a lure neither Luke nor Justin could resist. Justin did wonder what price he'd be paying for this tasty fare. Nell's ominous comment about murder was not one to be easily forgotten.

"What did you want to talk to me about, Nell?"

"Actually, it is Agnes who needs to speak with you. I told her to meet us over here after Prime."

"Who is Agnes?" Luke asked, spearing a sausage. "Another one of your mystery bedmates?"

Justin ignored the deputy's heavy-handed humor. "Agnes is Odo the barber's wife." He liked Agnes, a kindly neighbor who'd helped tend to his wounds after he'd been attacked by Gilbert the Fleming. But he could not imagine what she'd want to discuss with him so early in the morn. "What was that you were muttering about murder, Nell?"

"Whilst you were in Winchester, a young girl was found dead in St Mary Magdalene's churchyard." Nell set two tankards of ale on the table, then sat down across from them. "You may have seen the peddler who sometimes sold his wares here on Gracechurch Street. She was his daughter."

Justin had no memory of the man or the girl. "I am sorry," he said. "How does Agnes come into this? Was she kin to the lass?"

"No … her nephews are suspects in the killing."

Justin sat up in surprise. Putting down his knife, he said, "Why?"

Nell shrugged. "I do not know all the particulars. Agnes was too distraught to make much sense. She says neighborhood talk had them sharing her bed, so she thinks that is why suspicion has fallen upon Geoffrey and Daniel."

Luke was amused. "The both of them, eh? Was she a harlot, then?"

Nell shrugged again. "She was probably no better than she ought to be. But I doubt that she was whoring for money. She was free-spirited and a bit wild, was Melangell, and most likely smitten with Geoffrey. That lad breaks hearts every time he smiles, bless him."

"Melangell," Justin echoed. "She was Welsh?"

Nell nodded. "Half Welsh, I think. She grew up in the Marches, told me that her mother died last year and her father took the family to London in January to make a fresh start." Her brisk tones wavered and she said sadly, "Poor little bird …"

Justin had come to London, too, in January, fleeing his past like Melangell and her grieving family. "I am sorry," he said again, and meant it, although he still did not understand. "Why does Agnes want to talk to me about this, Nell?"

Nell hesitated, then said with a trace of defiance, "I told her you'd clear her nephews of suspicion."

"You did what?" Justin stared at her in dismay. "Nell, how could you do that? I have no authority to meddle in a murder!"

"You are the queen's man, are you not? What greater authority could you ask for than that?"

"This killing is for the London sheriffs to solve, not me. Even if I knew how I could help Agnes's nephews, I'd not have the time to spare. We've learned that Lord John is plotting with the French king to seize the throne by force."

Nell was not impressed by his revelation. The highborn were always up to no good, but what of it? No matter who sat on the throne at Westminster, she'd still be fretting about that leak in the roof and her daughter's need for new shoes. "Agnes found the time to nurse you after the Fleming ambushed you," she said pointedly. "Besides, how much time can it take? As likely as not, a talk with Jonas will clear it all up. Agnes is sure they played no part in the poor girl's death."

Justin gave her a reproachful look that was quite wasted, and then glared at Luke, who was chuckling at his predicament. "I'll talk to Agnes," he said grudgingly. "I can do no more than that."

Nell had never doubted that she'd get her way. Any man who'd go to the trouble of rescuing a stray dog from an icy river was a man with a heart too soft for his own good. "Fair enough," she agreed, sure that Agnes's tears would do the rest.

"Now let me tell you something of the family ere she arrives. Agnes's younger sister, Beatrice, married above herself, snaring a husband who has become quite prosperous. Humphrey Aston is a member of the Mercer's Guild, and to judge by Beatrice's bragging, he has done right well for himself. I've met him only once, for he's not keen on breaking bread with the likes of Odo and Agnes. I thought he was full of himself, as prickly as a hedgehog, a man who'd bite off his own tongue ere he'd admit he was in the wrong. Beatrice may have more comfort in her life, but Agnes got the better husband in Odo, for he loves her wholeheartedly and I doubt that Humphrey loves anyone except himself… well, possibly Geoffrey. Agnes says he does dote on the lad."

"Geoffrey is the firstborn?"

"Yes. He is twenty, and by all accounts, a son any man would be proud of. The younger lad, Daniel, is the black sheep, the one who makes a botch of all that he does. But Agnes swears he is no killer" Nell paused, head cocked to the side. "Did you hear anything?" Shadow took his attention away from the sausages long enough to give a distracted bark, and Nell pushed back from the table, went to let Agnes in.

Agnes was a plump, maternal woman in her early fifties, as basic and comforting as freshly baked bread. Her gratitude was tearful and heartfelt and embarrassing to Justin. "They are good lads," she said, stifling a sob. "I never was able to bear children of my own; the Lord God willed otherwise. Geoffrey and Daniel were the sons I could not have, and I've loved them as if they were mine. Neither one would ever hurt that child. I know that, Master de Quincy. I know it in the very depths of my soul."

Justin did not doubt her sincerity. He was not so sure, though, of her judgment. "Can you tell me about their involvement with the dead girl?" he asked gently. "What was she to them?"

Agnes wiped her eyes with a napkin. "Geoffrey has had girlschasing after him since he was fourteen or thereabouts, and I'm sure he sometimes let them catch him. Melangell was a shameless flirt and very pretty in a foreign, Welsh sort of way. But Geoffrey would not have taken their dalliance seriously. His father was about to announce his plight troth to the niece of the master of the Mercer's Guild, a great match for Geoffrey. Melangell may have been a passing fancy, but no more than that."

"And what of the younger son?"

"I think it was different with Daniel," she said slowly. "I believe he was a little in love with her. Not that he'd admit it. He is not one for confiding in others. That has always been his curse, that stubborn silence of his. Take that woeful business about his apprenticeship …"