Кейт Седли - The Goldsmith’s Daughter

‘I thought that was only on Saint Agnes’s Eve,’ I protested. ‘And something to do with a hard-boiled egg–’ I broke off, demanding indignantly, ‘Why would you want such information? You’re already married!’

Adela burst out laughing. ‘Do you think I’ve forgotten that fact? I just think it’s pretty. The pendant, I mean. And anyway, I’m far too old and sensible to believe in such nonsense.’ She sighed wistfully, ‘I was old at sixteen. I grew up early.’

‘But that doesn’t happen to all women,’ I said reflectively. ‘Some women are protected and cosseted and retain their innocence to a much greater age.’

‘Are you speaking of Eleanor Babcary?’

‘Yes.’ I handed the pendant and chain back to Adela. ‘Wear it today and to the tournament tomorrow.’ I kissed her again. ‘And don’t dream of any man but me.’

‘I haven’t since the moment I met you.’ She must have seen the self-satisfied smirk on my face, for she gave one of her sudden laughs. ‘Don’t let that admission go to your head, my love. There’s plenty of time for me to change my mind and plenty more fish in the sea.’ But the kiss she planted on my cheek, before getting out of bed, drew the sting from her words.

Half an hour later, just as we were finishing breakfast in the taproom, I asked, ‘Are either Philip or Jeanne Lamprey coming to fetch you this morning?’

My wife shook her had. ‘No, I forbade it. It’s not far, and by now, I’m sufficiently familiar with the streets around here to be able to find my own way to their shop.’

‘Good,’ I said. And in answer to her enquiring lift of the eyebrows, went on, ‘Will you come with me first to the Leadenhall and point out the stallholder who sold you the pendant?’

She looked mystified, but asked no questions and willingly agreed. Consequently, fortified by Reynold Makepeace’s hot, spiced wine and wrapped warmly in our cloaks, the hoods pulled well up around our ears, we set out as the church bells were beginning to ring for Tierce. The street cleaners were already hard at work, shovelling yesterday’s evil-smelling refuse into their carts, their hands blue with cold beneath the grime. But, in general, they were a cheerful bunch of men, calling and waving a greeting as we passed.

The Leadenhall was a hive of activity, as always on those days when ‘foreigners’ from outside the city limits were allowed in to set up their stalls. That day, too, a load of wool had arrived from the Cotswolds to be weighed on the King’s Beam and sealed by the customs men before being carted down to the wharves. To add to the crowds and general confusion, a fine but icy rain had begun to fall as we were turning out of Bucklersbury into the Stock’s Market, and many people had pushed their way into the Leadenhall for shelter. By the time we entered, the place was packed to the doors, and Adela doubted that she would be able to locate the man we were seeking.

In the event, however, she found him with surprising speed, a tall, lanky fellow selling cheap jewellery made from base metals, which, with barefaced effrontery, he declared to be silver and gold. I pushed my way to the front of the little crowd gathered around his stall, and indicated the lover’s knot pendants, hanging by their chains from one of the horizontal poles that held up the canopy.

‘Are those of your own making, friend?’

‘They are.’ He smiled, displaying a gap between his two front teeth. ‘But the design is magical, and was shown to me by an ancient who had brought it back, at great risk to his own life, from the lands of Prester John.’

I forbore, with difficulty, from remarking that it looked like a perfectly ordinary English love knot to me, and asked what magical property the pendants possessed.

‘If a maid wears one in bed, she’ll see the face and form of the man she’s going to marry,’ was the prompt response.

‘And do you tell this tale to every woman who buys a pendant from you?’ I sneered.

‘Ay, and also to those who just come here to waste my time. Like you, I fancy,’ the man added, his expression turning sour.

‘My wife has already bought one,’ I said, urging Adela forward. She obligingly opened her cloak to show the stallholder the pendant clasped around her neck.

The man was mollified but, when asked, denied all knowledge of anyone by the name of Babcary or Bonifant.

‘I’m from Paddington village, a fair way west of here. I know no one personally hereabouts.’

‘But you set up your stall in the Leadenhall every week?’

‘I do, and have done for the past year or more.’

I thanked him and, taking Adela’s arm, moved away. My wife regarded me curiously.

‘So, what have you learned?’ she asked, as we stood in the shelter of the porch, looking out at the lancing spears of rain.

I put my arm around her. ‘I’ve learned that any member of the Babcary household could have heard our friend’s story about the magical properties of his pendants any time during the past twelve months. So which of them suggested a pendant of the same design when it came to deciding on Eleanor’s birthday gift?’

‘Is it important?’

‘I’m not sure,’ I answered slowly, ‘but I think it might well be, especially if that person was aware that Eleanor herself had visited the jeweller’s stall in Leadenhall market and believed what she had been told by the owner.’ I nodded to myself. ‘Which she probably would, being the innocent that she is.’

Adela hugged me. ‘Then you’d better be off to West Cheap immediately to find out what you can. Don’t worry about me. The Lampreys’ shop isn’t very far.’

The goldsmith’s shop was empty except for Toby Maybury, busy about the necessary but monotonous task of stoking up the furnace with the bellows. He glanced over his shoulder as I entered and scowled when he saw who it was.

‘Oh, you’re back again, are you? What do you want this time? Why don’t you leave us alone?’

I remained determinedly friendly, ignoring his hostile manner.

‘Toby, my boy, I need your help. You’ve proved yourself to have a good memory; to be a bright, observant lad. So tell me, who suggested the design of the pendant that was made for Mistress Eleanor’s birthday?’

Won over by my flattery, the apprentice put down the bellows and strolled across to talk to me, his young face puckered in a thoughtful frown.

‘I believe it was Gideon,’ he said after a moment or two’s reflection. ‘Yes, the more I think about it, the surer I am that it was Master Bonifant. Wait!’ There was a pause, then he went on triumphantly, ‘I definitely remember now! It was one afternoon towards the middle of last October. The master called the other two over to the main counter here, and asked what they thought he should make Mistress Nell for her seventeenth birthday. Master Kit didn’t have any suggestions to offer. Well, he wouldn’t, would he? He’s like all brothers. Not much interested in the likes and dislikes of a sister. But Master Bonifant, he knew at once. “She bought a cheap pendant off some stall in Leadenhall market,” he says, “that seems to have taken her fancy. Let’s refashion it for her in gold.” And then he went on about it being a simple design of a lover’s knot in a circle, easy to do. In fact, the master thought it was too simple and decided that the centre of the pendant – the knot itself – should be studded with sapphires.’

‘Master Bonifant didn’t mention anything about such a design possessing magical powers?’ I enquired.

Toby regarded me pityingly. ‘Of course not! Why should he? Lovers’ knots are as common a design in jewellery as they are in embroidery.’

I apologised profusely, admitted that I had been scatterbrained since childhood, and deferred to his superior knowledge.