Leaning over the counter, Edwin peered into the shadows. "Now where in blazes are they? Thomas might wander off on a whim; God knows he has done it often enough. But what of Miles? Look at those amethysts and moss agates spread out on the workbench. A thief could vault over the counter, snatch up a handful, and be off in a trice! I do not like this, Master Justin," he muttered, "not at all…"
Neither did Justin. Goldsmiths were known to keep silver and gemstones on hand, even a small supply of gold. Had Gervase's killers struck again? "Where does yonder door lead, Edwin? Can we get in that way?"
"There is a second room beyond, where Master Gervase keeps — kept — his forge and bellows and heavier anvils. Miles sleeps there at night. There is an outer door in the alley, but it is locked and I lack the key."
With that, Edwin swung up onto the counter and over. Justin followed swiftly. A charcoal brazier was burning in a corner, still smoldering. A hammer lay in the floor rushes, as if dropped in haste. A wooden trencher had been left on the bench; it held a half-eaten chunk of goat's cheese and the remains of a small loaf of bread. Justin and Edwin exchanged uneasy glances. What had happened here? Their nerves were taut, and they both jumped when a muffled sound came from the inner room. Justin swept his mantle back, his hand closing around the hilt of his sword. Edwin was unarmed, but he stooped and grabbed the hammer. Communicating by gestures and nods, they moved stealthily forward and then hit the door together, Justin kicking at the latch and Edwin slamming a muscular shoulder against the aged wood.
The door was in better shape than they'd expected. Had it been latched, it would have held. But it was not, and it burst open under their joint assault. Justin's boot slipped in the floor rushes and he almost lost his balance, while Edwin's wild rush catapulted him headfirst into the room. Justin heard — simultaneously — a woman's scream, a garbled curse, and a loud crash. His sword clearing its scabbard, he plunged through the doorway, only to come to an astonished halt at the sight meeting his eyes.
Edwin was on his hands and knees, an expression of shocked dismay on his face. A man with flaxen hair was straddling a workbench, flushed and disheveled and blinking in bewilderment. On his lap was a vision. Her hair was a lustrous silver blonde, spilling out of its pins in silken disarray. Her clothes were equally askew. Her bodice was unlaced, offering Justin an inadvertent but provocative glimpse of her cleavage with every
breath she drew, and her skirts were hiked up to reveal very shapely legs. With eyes bluer than cornflowers and skin whiter than Madonna lilies, she could have been conjured up from a minstrel's song, so perfectly did she embody their society's ideal of feminine beauty. But that illusion lasted only as long as it took her to scramble off her lover's knee.
"You lowborn, half-witted, wretched…" Sputtering in her fury, she nearly choked on her own indignation. "How dare you spy on me! I'll see you fired for this, by God, I will!"
"That is not fair, Mistress Jonet! I feared something was wrong — "
"Something is wrong, indeed! Sneaking around, meddling, prying into my private life! Well, no more, for I've had enough — "
So had Justin. Sheathing his sword, he said coolly, "If you have a grievance, demoiselle, it is with me, not Edwin. I told him to breach the door."
The girl's angry tirade was stopped in midcry. "Oh! Her pretty mouth hung ajar, blue eyes widening as she took in the sword at Justin's hip, his demeanor, that deliberate use of "demoiselle," all unmistakable indications of rank.
Taking advantage of her momentary consternation, Edwin got to his feet. "Mistress Jonet, I'd have you meet Justin de Quincy. He paused before adding with malicious satisfaction, "He is the man who sought to save your father from those outlaws."
"Oh," she said again, this time in a soft, quavering tone of chagrin. Blushing for Justin as she had not for Edwin, she hastily began to relace her gaping bodice. Justin did what he could to intensify her embarrassment by stepping forward and kissing her hand in his most courtly manner. He suspected that she was rarely so tongue-tied; any girl who looked like this one did would have learned at an early age how to make the most of her assets. Enjoying her discomfiture as much as Edwin, he said, "We feared that something was amiss, what with the shop open and unattended… If we jumped to the wrong conclusion, I am indeed sorry."
Jonet's blush deepened. Bending over, she hastily retrieved her veil from the floor rushes. "I stopped by to see Thomas. You do not know my brother, but he can be very irresponsible. He just took off, leaving Miles with orders to complete and repairs to make and customers to tend to."
Justin had a diabolic urge to point out that Jonet had certainly done her best to make it up to Miles, but he managed to resist the temptation. He could not help glancing toward the journeyman, though. Justin guessed him to be in his early or mid-twenties, undeniably good looking in a bland sort of way, and apparently blessed with an abundance of self-confidence, for he seemed unperturbed by this sudden exposure of his love affair with his employer's daughter. Brushing aside a. bright forelock, he said amiably, "Tom has always been a bit flighty, but he's a good lad. I do not mind pitching in to do his share."
Justin was sure that no one called the missing apprentice "Tom" except Miles. Nor did he doubt that if he became friendly with the journeyman, he'd soon be "Jus." "I believe this is yours," Justin said, reaching down and plucking a rabbit's foot from the rushes. He knew it was used by goldsmiths to polish silver and gold, but from the way Jonet blushed anew, he'd wager they'd been putting it to more creative use. "Well, I've been enough of a disruption," he began, but Jonet contradicted him quickly.
"No one could be more welcome than you, Master de Quincy," she insisted, turning upon him the full power of her most coquettish smile. "I know my mother will want you to take supper with us. Our servant will get you back to our house. I trust you can do that, Edwin, without going astray?"
Edwin dared not ignore her, but he could not bring himself to acquiesce in his own humiliation, and he grunted something that might have been either assent or denial. Justin bent over Jonet's hand again, this time making the gesture perfunctory, not gallant. Jonet realized that she'd done something to earn his disapproval, but she did not know how she'd offended. "Wait," she cried as Justin turned to go. "I do not want you to misunderstand, Master de Quincy. Miles and I … we are plight-trothed."
That was obviously news to Edwin, for he gave Jonet a startled glance that, under other circumstances, might have been comical. There was an awkward silence, finally broken by Justin. "I wish you both well," he said politely. It was a tepid response, but it seemed to satisfy Jonet and Miles. They followed him out to the street, smiling.
Justin and Edwin walked without speaking for a time, detouring around a hissing goose and a pig foraging in a pile of rotting garbage. "Well," Justin said at last, "she may have the face of one of God's angels, but she has the Devil's own temper."
Edwin laughed, without much humor. "You do not know the half of it! There is no pleasing that one. You could give her Queen Eleanor's royal crown and she'd just bemoan the fit!"
"Am I safe in assuming that Master Gervase knew nothing of this plight-troth?"
Edwin snickered. "His precious daughter and his hired man? When pigs sprout wings!"
"Are you sure he did not know, Edwin?"
"Miles is still employed, is he not? What more proof do you need than that? As I told you, Master Gervase had his heart set upon snaring a highborn husband for his lass — Sir Hamon de Harcourt. He is fifty if he is a day, paunchy and bald as an egg, but he has a fine manor outside Salisbury and another one at Wilton, as well as rental property here in Winchester — or so Berta the cook claims! Sir Hamon has grown sons who were objecting to his marrying a craftsman's daughter, even one who'd bring a goodly marriage portion. But I think the marriage would have come about in time. Hell and furies, he could not look at Jonet without drooling! You think Master Gervase would pass up a baron for a hireling who sleeps in his shop?"