Kate Sedley - The Three Kings of Cologne

‘Always have had,’ she answered proudly. ‘My dear mother used to say to me, “Judith, if we had a silver shilling for every time you remember something aright, we’d be richer than a bishop.” Ain’t that so, Alfred?’

‘That be so, my dear,’ her brother concurred, but I could tell that he wasn’t really listening. He was lost in a dream of his own; a dream of youth and a beautiful girl who had once, long ago, smiled at him and brightened his humdrum life, if only for a moment.

I rose to my feet, picking up Hercules and apologizing once more for the incident with the geese.

‘No harm done. As it happens.’ Judith Humble could not resist the rider, nor wagging an admonitory finger at me as she spoke. She, too, got to her feet.

I recollected something.

‘This girl we’ve been talking about, this Isabella Linkinhorne, she had a cousin who lived in, or near, Westbury. A Jeanette Linkinhorne. She entered the sisterhood of the Magdalen nuns in Bristol a few weeks before Isabella disappeared. Did you by any chance know her? Or of her?’

My hostess clapped a hand to her forehead. ‘I knew the name Linkinhorne seemed familiar to me when you first mentioned it, but I couldn’t for the life of me think why. Yes, I do recall the woman, vaguely, although I never knew her well. She lived a little way out of the village, in a cottage that stands by itself at the top of the hill as you come down from the Clifton track. But I’d no idea she was kin to this Isabella. No good reason why I should. Any visit to her cottage would have been paid before the girl reached as far as here. Became a nun, did she? Well, there again, I knew her so little that, according to what you say, she’s been gone these twenty years and I haven’t even missed her. Just an echo of the name must’ve stuck in my mind.’

I thanked her yet again, took my leave of Alfred Humble, still wandering somewhere among the stars, and started the long walk home.

It was almost suppertime when, tired out and weary, I finally reached Small Street. Adela was where she was usually to be found, in the kitchen, squeezing the last of the whey from a muslin bag of curds that, with further hanging, would make a palatable cream cheese. The children were nowhere to be seen, although I could hear them upstairs, rattling around like so many peas in a pod. Hercules went straight to his water bowl, while I kissed my wife and sank thankfully on to a stool and pulled off my boots.

‘It looks like it might be a dry summer,’ I said, tossing them into a corner and stooping to rub my aching feet. ‘I noticed on the way home that the oaks are coming into bud before the ash trees.’

Adela smiled and quoted, ‘Oak before ash, we’ll only have a splash; Ash before oak, we’re in for a soak. That’s good news. You look exhausted. Supper’s nearly ready.’ She went to the pot over the fire and stirred the contents. A delicious smell of herbs scented the air. ‘Mutton,’ she added. ‘They’ve been slaughtering sheep in the Shambles today, so Margaret and I shared the price of three collops between us. Fresh meat on a Monday, my lad! You’re being spoiled, but there was more money in Mayor Foster’s purse than I at first thought.’

I frowned. ‘We mustn’t get used to good living, sweetheart. What we don’t use, I must give back to him.’

She grimaced. ‘I know. You like your independence. You don’t want to work for other people. But just now and then,’ she went on wistfully, ‘it’s nice not to have to worry about the price of things.’ She changed the subject quickly. ‘Have you found out anything of importance today?’

‘A little. I must go and see Margaret again. Her and the other two wise women of Redcliffe.’ Adela giggled. ‘I need to find out if they know, or knew, of anyone living in the city called Jane Honeychurch. She was Isabella’s maid,’ I explained, answering my wife’s look of enquiry.

I gave her a brief history of my day’s doings, and of the various scraps of knowledge I had garnered from the hermit, from Emilia Virgoe and from Judith and Alfred Humble, by which time the children had made their appearance, all clamouring to know if I had brought them anything. Fortunately for household peace, I had remembered my obligations before making my way to Small Street, and purchased some sugared violets from an itinerant sweetmeat seller. These I now proceeded to distribute equally between the three of them (with dire warnings not to eat them until after supper), which reminded Adela that it was the season for candying both flower heads and some of the early fruits.

‘I must ask Margaret if she can spare me a few scrapings of her sugar loaf,’ she remarked, starting to ladle the mutton broth on to our plates. ‘I know some of the Redcliffe dames share half a one amongst themselves.’

‘I’ll ask her tomorrow,’ I volunteered. ‘It will give me an excuse for calling on her again so soon. She might otherwise get the impression that I’m hankering after her company.’

My wife smiled, but shook her head reprovingly.

‘Margaret’s a good woman, Roger, and she’s been an excellent friend to us. To me, especially, when you’re away from home.’

‘Away!’ shouted Adam, exploring one nostril with a grubby forefinger whilst spooning broth into his mouth with his other hand. The combination of all three activities resulted in the gravy running down over his chin and staining his little smock. Adela gave an exasperated groan, while the two older children tried to suppress their sniggers. It was, I reflected, a fairly normal mealtime and I attempted to maintain my good humour.

I was in Redcliffe bright and early the following morning, only to find my former mother-in-law already spinning busily, the basket of unbleached wool having been delivered to her from the weaving sheds probably just after dawn.

‘You’ve started betimes. I thought the guild regulated spinners’ hours,’ I said, frowning.

Margaret snorted in derision. ‘So they might have, my lad! But I’m a poor woman and I can earn a deal more money by adhering to Master Adelard’s hours than going along with all this new-fangled nonsense.’

‘The guild’s rules are made for your own good,’ I protested.

‘You mind your own business,’ she answered tartly, ‘and I’ll mind mine. What can I do for you? Two visits in four days! I am honoured.’

I asked first about the sugar loaf, and she nodded. ‘I’ll divide my share with Adela most willingly.’ Then when I showed no sign of immediately taking my leave, she stopped the loom and regarded me shrewdly. ‘Well? What else?’ she demanded. ‘Out with it! I’m very busy today, as you can see.’

I pulled up a stool and sat down beside her. ‘It’s to do with this present enquiry of mine for Mayor Foster.’ And I launched into as brief an explanation as I could of what I had so far discovered. ‘So,’ I asked, when I had finished, ‘does the name of this Jane Honeychurch mean anything at all to you? Married or not, the woman would be forty or so years of age by now.’

Margaret sat, chewing her bottom lip for a moment or two before giving a decisive shake of her head.

‘I’ll have to go and consult with Maria and Bess,’ she announced, getting up from her loom and putting on her cloak. Obviously, helping me took precedence over her own work, however urgent that might be. ‘Stay here,’ she added. ‘I’ll be back shortly.’

She was optimistic. I reckoned that a good hour had passed before I saw her again, looking refreshed after a long gossip and exchange of information with her two bosom friends. During her absence I took in another basket of wool from the weaving sheds, a loaf of oaten bread which she had sent to be baked in the ovens in Water Lane and lied about her whereabouts to another caller, who urgently needed her advice on how to use alkanet as a colouring for cheese.