"It could not have been easy, though, for Mistress Ella." This had been a day of surprises, for certes. "What is she like, Gervase's concubine?"
"Remember what Scriptures say about Eve tempting Adam with that fruit? Well, if Adam had been in Eden with Aldith instead of Eve, he would not have minded being cast out of
Paradise, not as long as she went with him!"
Justin grinned. "Edwin, you sound downright smitten."
Edwin grinned back. "You'd be just as besotted if you ever laid eyes on her!"
"Can you tell me how to find her cottage?"
"Yes … but why?"
Justin could not think of a plausible reason why he should be seeking out Gervase's mistress. The best he could offer was a half-truth. "Let's say that Aldith has aroused my curiosity."
Edwin burst out laughing. "Mistress Aldith is right good at that, at arousing a man's… curiosity, was it? I'll give you directions. Do not say, though, that you were not warned!"
Justin signaled for more ale; not only was Edwin a good source, he was good company, too. They passed an agreeable half hour in easy conversation, but then the groom pushed reluctantly away from the table, saying that he ought to get back ere he was missed. Justin lingered to finish his drink, and to think upon what he'd discovered this day.
The truth was that he was rather disheartened by his sojourn in the Fitz Randolph household. The slain goldsmith had been a decent, God-fearing soul, mayhap stubborn and stiff necked, yet a good man, withal. A husband, father, brother: his death ought to have left a great, gaping hole in his family. But it barely seemed to have made a dent. This was not how Justin had envisioned family life. To an orphan, that was the Grail of legend and myth: a castle high on a hill, a safe refuge against a hostile world. It was disillusioning to learn that Gervase's castle had held so much dissension and so little harmony.
His cup was empty. Justin got to his feet, fumbling for a coin and then heading for the door. The cold took his breath away. Lacking a lantern, he had only starlight to guide him. The street was deserted, icy in patches, and deeply rutted. When a ghostly pale streak darted across his path, he recoiled in haste. But then he smiled. No imp of Satan, merely a stray cat. He half turned to watch the creature's skittering flight and caught a blurred movement behind him, quickly stilled.
Justin's pulse speeded up again, this time in earnest. Frowning, he surveyed the dark, silent street. Nothing seemed amiss — now. The hooded figure was gone. Had he conjured up a phantom spirit, seen someone who was never there? He'd have liked to believe that, but he knew better. As brief as his glimpse had been, it was enough. A man had been trailing after him, swiftly fading back into the shadows when he'd turned. Justin slowly loosened his sword in its scabbard, searching the blackness. But the night gave up no secrets.
~~
The following morning, Justin accompanied the Fitz Randolph family to All Saints Church to hear a Requiem Mass for the soul of the murdered goldsmith. In midafternoon, he went to the castle. But his visit was unproductive. The sheriff was still absent from the town, and his deputy, Luke de Marston, was not expected back from Southampton until later in the day.
And so it was late when Justin was finally able to set out to find Aldith Talbot. According to Edwin, the house was in an open area near the city walls, not far from the North Gate. As the light faded, Justin's steps quickened, for last night's memory was still too vivid for comfort. Had someone truly been stalking him? Or had his imagination played him false? Logic argued for the latter. But instinct stronger than reason warned that the danger had been real, and daylight had done nothing to dispel his certainty.
Dusk was falling by the time he saw the cottage, a thin plume of pale smoke curling above its thatched roof, light glinting through chinks in the wooden shutters. It was small but well kept, newly whitewashed. He hesitated as he neared the door, for he had not yet come up with an excuse to explain his presence here. Hoping for inspiration to strike at the final moment, he reached for the metal door knocker. There was a roar from within, such a booming bark that he flinched. What did she have in there, a wolf pack?
The opening door blocked out most of the light. The woman was in shadows, her features hidden. The dog was the one to claim Justin's attention: blacker than coal, the largest mastiff he'd ever seen. Fortunately, she appeared to have a firm grip on the beast's collar.
"Yes?" Her voice was low for a woman, with a distinctive husky tone; it made Justin want to hear it again.
"Mistress Talbot? I know it is presumptuous of me to show up at your door like this. But I was hoping you could spare me a few moments. My name is Justin de Quincy. I was with Master Fitz Randolph when he died."
"Come in."
When she opened the door wider, Justin carefully edged inside, keeping a wary eye on the mastiff. "You need not worry about Jezebel," she said, sounding amused. "She has eaten already."
Jezebel? At least the woman had a sense of humor. And the dog was further proof of Gervase's devotion, for purebreds were outrageously expensive and mastiffs practically worth their weight in gold.
As she turned to close the door, Justin glanced curiously about the cottage. There was a fireplace against the far wall, a canopied bed partially screened off, a cushioned settle, an oak trestle table, several stools and coffer chests, and a woven wall hanging, dyed in bright shades of red and yellow. It was a comfortable room, and it was easy to imagine Gervase hastening here after another squabble with his brother, a spat with his son.
He had not realized that his scrutiny was so conspicuous until Aldith murmured, "Did you miss the fur-lined coverlet on the bed?"
Justin smiled apologetically. "I suppose I was staring, but — " He got no further, for Aldith Talbot quite literally took his breath away. She could not be considered beautiful in the strictest sense of the word, for her mouth was too large, her chin too pointed, her cheekbones too wide. But the result was somehow magical. Her hair was a rich, deep auburn, lustrous and gleaming wherever the firelight caught it, and it was loose about her shoulders, which had an erotic impact in and of itself, for women kept their hair covered in public, unbound only in the privacy of their homes. She had slanting cat eyes, a vibrant shade of blue-green, and Justin was sure that one lingering look would melt most men like candle wax. No wonder Gervase had thought her well worth a mortal sin!
"Are you done, Master de Quincy?"
Justin flushed, feeling like a grass-green stripling undone by his first glimpse of a trim female ankle. "Almost," he said sheepishly. "All I need to do now is to trip over your dog and spill some wine on your skirt."
"You might want to break a cup, too," she suggested, but he could see the laughter shimmering in the depths of those turquoise eyes, like sunlight on seawater. "I shall share a secret with you," she said. "There is not a woman alive who does not appreciate a compliment now and then, and yours was the most flattering tribute of all — the involuntary kind!"
Taking his arm, she steered him toward the settle. But once they were seated, Justin became aware of a savory aroma wafting from the hearth, where a cauldron was bubbling over an iron trivet. Glancing around the cottage, he focused for the first time on the table and its contents: the white cloth, the wrought-iron candlesticks, twin wine flagons and cups, a freshly baked loaf, two trenchers carved from stale bread, spoons and knives neatly aligned. "I am intruding," he said, starting to rise. "You are expecting company…"
"Sit," she urged. "We have time to talk. I would like you to tell me about Gervase's dying. Did he suffer much?"