Aldred found a spot for himself and when Nell noticed him, he held up two fingers, hoping that she'd be tempted to take a break and have an ale with him. He'd always assumed that any woman managing an alehouse would have to be a hag, ugly as sin and as strapping and hulking as a Kentish quarryman. But Nell was a little bit of a lass, not even reaching his shoulder, with curly flaxen hair that was always escaping the constraints of her veil, a ripe, pouting mouth, and eyes as blue as a harvest sky. Aldred's shy courtship had not progressed very far; he suspected that Nell dismissed him as a green country lad, even though he'd lived in London for nigh on two years and proudly bore a scar on his throat from the blade of the notorious Gilbert the Fleming.
Eventually Nell made her way over, and Aldred's hopes rose at the sight of two tankards of ale. "Move your bum, Firmin," she directed and the man obediently slid down the bench, allowing her to sit next to Aldred.
"Lord have mercy, what a day…," She drank, sighed, and drank again. "I vow, Aldred, I've been on the run since daybreak, with nary a chance to catch my breath. First my Lucy was chasing about with that mad beast of Justin's and she tripped, scraping her knees and getting blood all over her skirt. Whilst I was getting her cleaned up, the sausages I was frying burnt to cinders. Then Hardwin finally showed up to whitewash the walls, after promising and putting me off for nigh on a month. So what happened next? Look for yourself," she said, pointing toward a patch of brightness, an island in a sea of smoke-smudged, murky grime.
"He mixed the lime and salt with water, painted that small section of the wall, and then told Ellis he was off to the cook shop for his supper. That was hours ago! I'll wager he's not coming back tonight, and all I've got to show for his day's work is one half-done wall, a lot of clutter, and that trough over there slopping over with whitewash! Ellis already put his foot in one of the buckets, damned near broke his leg. When I catch Hardwin, I'll make him rue the day he was ever born!"
Aldred did not doubt it; Nell's temper was legendary on Gracechurch Street. "You know how painters and carpenters and their ilk are," he said sympathetically. "If you are fool enough to give them their money ere the job is done, they're off in a puff of smoke — " Suddenly realizing that he'd just inadvertently insulted Nell, he said hastily, "Is Jonas here yet? He told me to meet him at Vespers. He and Justin have been chasing their tails all over London, trying to track down those rumors about some of the sheriff's men keeping a portion of the ransom for themselves."
In his eagerness to distract Nell from his gaffe, he was being indiscreet. Normally Nell would have seized upon this intriguing bit of gossip, but she was only half-listening to Aldred, eyes narrowing upon a corner table. "I cannot believe it," she muttered. "Now that knave is harrying poor Leofric!"
Following her gaze, Aldred did not see why she was so vexed. The object of her anger seemed to be a stranger of about thirty or so, well-dressed in a stalked cap and bright blue tunic, long legs stretched out in front of him, revealing leather ankle boots that Aldred would have loved to own. Several men were seated at the table and he glanced back at Nell. "Which one is Leofric?"
"The lad in the short tunic with the ripped sleeve," she said, gesturing toward a lanky redhead. "That lout has been hanging around all day, goading others into dicing or arm wrestling with him, for a wager, of course. When men balk, he shames them into it… and always wins. I am sure he is cheating somehow. I knew he was a wrong one the first I laid eyes on him. I warned him to let Leofric be, too!"
Aldred found himself begrudging Leofric the warmth in Nell's vice, "Is he mute that he cannot speak up for himself?" he asked, unable to keep an edge from his tone.
Fortunately for him, Nell didn't notice. "Leofric is a good lad, but he is slow-witted. When he first started coming in, some of the others made sport of him till I put a stop to it. He never causes trouble, just drinks his ale and smiles when spoken to. He helps out at the butcher's and has a few pence to spend, so I suppose that makes him fair game to that two-legged snake."
Embarrassed by his jealousy, Aldred sought to redeem himself in Nell's eyes by offering to arm wrestle the "snake" himself. "I do not like to boast, but I've won more than my share of bouts. I'll be right glad to teach him a lesson for you, Mistress Nell."
His effort was wasted, though, for Nell had turned aside to confer with Ellis. Setting down her ale, she rose reluctantly to her feet. "I'll be back," she said. "Ellis says one of the barrels has sprung a leak."
When she returned, there was a crowd around Leofric's table. Aldred was standing nearby, looking indignant, and immediately pushed his way toward her, "He prodded the lad into wrestling. But then he said they ought to make it 'interesting,' and he put a candle on the table so the loser would get burnt!"
Nell shoved and squirmed her way through the circle of spectators. Beads of sweat had broken out on Leofric's forehead, and his knuckles were bone-white in the other man's grip. But try as he might, his arm was slowly being forced toward that flickering candle, Wincing as the yellow flame licked at his skin, he looked up at Nell with such bewilderment that she felt a surge of outrage. Reaching for a tankard on the table, she knocked it over onto the candle, soaking the sleeves of both men with ale.
"How clumsy of me," she said, as evenly as her anger would allow. She looked toward Ellis, signaling for a refill as the best way of easing the tension. But the gambler gave her no chance.
"You stupid cow! This is Flemish wool!" Glaring at Nell, he brandished the wet blotch on his sleeve as if it were a wound, "If the fuller cannot get the stain out, you'll owe me for a new tunic." As she started to speak, he cut her off with an imperious gesture. "I want no apologies, woman, not from the likes of you. Just get me another drink and get it now."
Color flooded Nell's face. "You want an ale, do you?" She spun around and snatched a tankard from the closest table. "Here you are," she said, swiftly upending it over his head.
He sprang to his feet, sputtering oaths, and lunged for her. But she'd already darted out of reach, putting the table between them. "Lowborn bitch!" He started for her again, only to be brought up short when Aldred and Ellis blocked his way. His curses spilling onto them, he raged for another moment or so before becoming aware of the utter silence. Glancing over his shoulder, he discovered that he was ringed in by a half dozen men.
"This is none of your concern!"
"Ah, but it is," one of his new adversaries explained. "We look after our own here."
His eyes slid from one face to another and then he began to back slowly away. The men followed.
It had been a long day, and both Jonas's and Justin's steps were flagging as they turned onto Gracechurch Street, trailed by Shadow, Justin's panting black dog. They'd covered at least ten miles since that morning, all of it on foot, for seasoned Londoners knew better than to brave the crowded city streets on horseback when they had many stops to make.
"I never thought I'd miss chasing after thieves and cutthroats," Jonas said tiredly. "But they're easier prey for certes. Hunt them down, catch them, hang them, and forget them."
"Well, at least we disproved the rumor." Justin smothered a yawn with his fist. "I can now assure the queen that the coffer from the nunnery at Clerkenwell arrived intact and the seal was not tampered with."
"This time," Jonas amended. "I daresay the money being collected in London is making it safely to the crypt at St Paul's. There are too many eyes watching for it here. But there are a lot of lonely roads and moors and deep woods in the realm."