I had not been in London for a long while, and felt a sudden sense of exhilaration at all the hustle and bustle going on around me. For me today, now that I am an old man, settled in the quiet and peace of my native Somerset, the city holds no attractions, but then, I was young and vigorous, and London was like a tray full of sweetmeats, each tempting delight waiting to be sampled, my mouth watering as my fingers hovered, not knowing which to choose first. For the present, however, I had work to do, my time was not my own. But later, if this mission should prove abortive, or when, with God’s help, it was successfully concluded, I promised myself that I would return to the capital and sample the many temptations it had to offer.
Pausing in the shadow of St Paul’s, I cudgelled my brains to remember something Grizelda had told me over a week ago, when we were talking in her cottage. Three years since, Rosamund Skelton, by then a widow and living in Totnes, had come to London to visit an old friend who lived in Paternoster Row. ‘A Ginèvre Napier and her husband, Gregory. Gregory Napier is a goldsmith with a shop in West Cheap, between Foster Lane and Gudrun Lane.’ I thought carefully for a moment or two, satisfying myself that those had indeed been Grizelda’s words, then asked directions of a fellow pedlar, who was selling his wares just inside the churchyard.
He eyed me suspiciously, and was inclined to be unhelpful, until I assured him that I had no intention of setting up a rival pitch anywhere near at hand. Then, he was pleased to assist me.
‘Go along Old Dean’s Lane, and to your right, on the opposite side of this churchyard, is Paternoster Row. At its other end, by the church of St Michael at Corn, you’ll come into West Cheap. You’ll find most of the goldsmiths there.’
I thanked him and followed his directions, walking slowly the length of Paternoster Row and wondering which of the gaily painted houses belonged to Gregory Napier. He must, I reflected, be a very wealthy man if he and his wife did not live behind the shop, but in a separate dwelling. But this was to my advantage, for if I could speak to Ginèvre Napier on her own, free of her husband’s presence, I fancied she might talk more frankly. But first, I must make sure that Gregory Napier was busy at his work.
I accosted a small street urchin who, together with a flock of kites and ravens, was scavenging among the refuse piled up on the cobbles. Having watched him drive away several other boys who had ventured into this part of the Cheap, I judged it to be his patch, which he would defend against all comers. He would be sure to know which shop belonged to which craftsman, just as the owners, in their turn, would know him, by sight, if not by name.
I opened my palm to disclose half a groat and at once a dirty hand reached out to snatch it.
‘Not so fast,’ I protested, caging the money within my fingers. ‘Does one of these goldsmiths’ shops belong to Gregory Napier?’
The blue eyes narrowed with suspicion: the urchin was protective of his benefactors, who no doubt left him titbits from time to time, among the festering rubbish. I thought at first that he would refuse to answer, and that I should have to ask elsewhere, but the thought of the half-groat concealed in my palm proved to be too great a lure. He nodded towards a shop in front of whose booth no less than three capped apprentices called and toted their master’s wares.
‘That’s Master Napier’s,’ he grunted, and shot out his hand again for the money.
But I still clenched my fist. ‘And is he working there, inside?’
This time, the eyes widened and the gaze became malevolent. ‘What’s that to you, pedlar?’
‘What’s my business to you?’ I retorted. I relented a little. ‘I give you my solemn promise that I mean Master Napier no harm.’
The urchin hesitated, then decided I was honest.
‘’E’s there,’ he said. ‘You can see the smoke comin’ out the chimney. Workin’ on a very delicate piece for my lord ’Astings, or so I ’eard, an’ ’e won’t trust anyone but ’imself to work the bellows.’ The boy nodded knowingly. ‘Right temp’rature’s everythink in such cases.’
I laughed and released the coin into his eagerly waiting palm, before reaching into my pouch for a second. I held it up between finger and thumb, and the lad’s eyes sparkled. A whole groat in one day was unlooked-for beneficence. He could scarcely believe his luck, and was by now ready to tell me anything I wanted to know without further quibble.
‘Master Napier doesn’t live behind the shop, I understand, but has a house in Paternoster Row. Can you tell me which it is?’
‘’Course I can!’ he answered scornfully. ‘’Ere! Follow me!’ He led me back past the church of St Michael at Corn, where it stood at the junction with the Shambles, into the narrow, cobbled Row, made gloomy by its dozens of overhanging roofs. My lad pointed a grimy forefinger, indicating a house some four storeys high, the carved timbers of its gable picked out in scarlet, blue and gold. The windows of the lower two floors had wooden shutters, at present standing open to the warmth of the afternoon, but the upper ones were made of glass, a sure sign of riches, the top three showing a leaded trefoil, the lower three circles within a triangle, both signs of the Trinity of God.
‘Tha’s it. Tha’s the one.’ The urchin once more extended his open hand and I placed the half-groat in it.
‘Will Mistress Napier be within, do you think?’ I asked, and heard the boy suck in his breath on a respectful whistle.
‘Like that, is it then?’ His teeth showed suddenly white in his dirty face. ‘I’ll keep a watch on the shop for you, if you want,’ he offered.
I cuffed his ear. ‘You’ll keep a civil tongue in your head and put a curb on those lecherous thoughts of yours!’ I told him severely. ‘I know nothing of Mistress Napier, but have no doubt that she’s a virtuous lady. And she certainly has nothing to fear from me.’
The urchin sent me a sidelong glance, full of meaning.
‘You might ’ave nothin’ to say in the matter, chapman.’ He chuckled. ‘I’ve ’eard stories about ’er as ud make your ’air curl.’ He nudged my ribs. ‘Eats the likes of you fer ’er brekfust.’
I sent him on his way with another box on the ear, but as he was accustomed to such treatment, I doubt it had any effect. He looked over his shoulder, grinning cheekily, as he made off, back to the Cheap to resume his scavenging. I, in the meantime, hesitated to knock on the door of the Napiers’ house, wondering if there was any other entrance. While I did so, I became aware of someone watching me from behind one of the open, lower windows. A moment later, the door opened and a young maidservant made her appearance.
‘My mistress bids you enter, chapman, if you’re selling your wares. She has need of some new silk ribbons.’
Chapter Eighteen
I followed the young girl into one of the downstairs parlours, where such light as there was came through the unshuttered window from the street outside. It was a richly furnished room, with fresh, sweet-smelling rushes covering the floor, three finely carved armchairs, the ceiling beams newly painted in glowing reds and gold, the walls hung with splendid tapestries, whose colours had a pristine glow, a corner cupboard, displaying bowls and cups and plates crafted in go!d and silver-gilt, and a large table, fashioned from the finest oak.