Nell had been forthright from the first in talking about the life she'd concocted for herself, with the help of her male partners. "Bella" claimed to be the wife of an overbearing, older man, a well-to-do chandler who supplied candles to half the churches in London. It was not a happy match; she'd dropped enough hints to make sure Nora picked up on her discontent. Unfortunately for Nell and her fellow conspirators, Nora was much more sparing with intimate details of her own life. It was fully a week before Nell learned anything at all of the other woman's past.
"She has not had an easy time of it," Nell related to a very attentive audience. "At fifteen, she was seduced by an English merchant in Dublin on business. When he returned home, he took her with him to London. He'd promised to marry her, but he'd neglected to mention that he already had a wife. So he set Nora up in a cottage, whilst she sought to convince herself that in time, he'd leave his wife for her. Instead, she got with child, and he stopped paying the rent. Cast out into the streets, she miscarried of the babe. She did not tell me the rest of it. In fact, she has yet to admit she whores for a living."
Justin found himself feeling great sympathy for that young Irish girl, on her own in a foreign city, with neither kin nor friends to turn to for help. "That poor lass," he said. "Little wonder she became a whore. What else did she have to barter except her body?"
"And then she had to get herself entangled in that hellspawn Fleming's web." Luke shook his head. "If not for bad luck, she'd have no luck at all, would she?"
Nell leaned back in her seat, regarding them with bright, mocking eyes. "Are the two of you always so tender toward whores? Or just the ones with flaxen hair and fluttering eyelashes?"
Luke and Justin exchanged puzzled glances. "You said yourself, Nell," Justin protested, "that Nora has had a hard time. It surprises me, in truth, that you seem to have so little pity for the lass."
"Well, it does not surprise me that you have so much pity to spare, Justin. But I did not expect you to be so trusting, Luke. I know many men retain a touching belief in whores with hearts of gold. I'd not have thought to find a sheriff's deputy amongst them, though. Can it be that some of these fabled creatures can truly be found in Winchester?"
Jonas gave a guffaw of laughter, nearly choking on his ale. But Justin and Luke both bristled, Luke denying vehemently that he was "trusting," and Justin demanding to know why Nell was so lacking in charity. "The woman had been badly used. How can you be so unmoved by her story?"
"Mayhap because I did not take it as gospel."
The two men traded looks again. "You think it was all a lie?"
"No… not all of it. She might well have been abandoned by her London lover. But even at fifteen, I doubt that she was the utter innocent she claims to've been. And if she miscarried of her babe, I think it's probably because she found a midwife who knew which herbs can end a pregnancy. As for being cast out penniless, I doubt that, too. Our Nora could teach a cat about landing on her feet."
"Why do you judge the girl so harshly, Nell? Do you truly find whoring to be such an unforgivable sin?"
"No, I do not," she insisted. "For too many women, there is no other way to feed themselves and their children. Justin, you are usually so quick. So why are you so slow now to grasp what I am saying? I do not mistrust Nora because she is a Southwark whore. I'd not trust her were she the mayor's wife. When I said she'd not had an easy time, I meant it. But rain falls on the good and the ungodly alike, does it not?"
"And Nora is one of the ungodly?"
"Yes," she said firmly, "I believe she is. She may have an angelic smile and a soft, honeyed voice, but she has flint where her heart ought to be. After a week in her company, I can tell you this about your 'poor lass,' that she puts Nora first and
foremost. Remember how we were guessing why she'd take up with a killer like the Fleming? Well, I'd say it is for whatever she can get from him."
Justin lapsed into a troubled silence. If Nell was right about Nora's selfish, unscrupulous nature, that meant her danger was twofold: from both the Fleming and his whore.
~~
Justin arrived at the alehouse in midmorning, for Nell had agreed to meet Nora at the Westcheap market at noon. He would accompany her partway, then follow the women at a circumspect distance, muffled in one of the nondescript hooded cloaks he'd bought for their surveillance.
Justin was in better spirits this morn, for Nell's reconnaissance finally seemed to be paying off. Nora had begun to mention a mysterious, as yet unnamed lover, bragging about his generous gifts, boasting that he doted on her every whim. He was away on business, she claimed, but she hoped he'd soon be returning.
Jonas had stopped the official hunt for Gilbert. No longer did his men roust the ale-keepers and stew-masters in search of the Fleming, and he'd put the rumor out on the streets that they believed Gilbert had fled London. They were heartened, therefore, by Nora's offhand remarks about her lover's return. Did this mean their ruse had worked? Did the Fleming now think it was safe to venture out and about again?
At sight of Nell, Justin's mouth dropped open. "Good God, what happened to you?"
"It looks dreadful, does it not?" Nell lifted a candle up to give him a better look at her blackened eye. "You'd swear a man's fist did the damage," she said proudly. "Do you want to know how I did it? First I smudged kohl around my eye, and then I smeared on cinders, ever so lightly. Lastly, I powdered it over heavily, the way a woman would do to try to hide it."
"Very convincing," Justin agreed. "But we never talked of this, Nell. What are you up to?"
"I've grown weary of the waiting, too. When I stumbled on the stairs yesterday and bruised my wrist, it gave me an idea. Now that we've found the fishing hole, it is time we baited the hook."
~~
Nell and Nora were sitting at a trestle table in a tavern just off Watling Street. It was poorly lit by pungent tallow candles, its once whitewashed walls smoke blackened, its matted floor rushes filthy with mud and mouse droppings. Nora had suggested it, though, because they served meals. The women had ordered a hot eel pie with their wine, and the aroma was appealing. But Nell was too nervous to have much of an appetite, and Nora was absorbed in her scrutiny of Nell's blackened eye and bruised wrist.
"Your husband did this?"
Nell nodded, averting her eyes. For an unsettling moment, she could not recall what his name was supposed to be. Justin had chosen the name, that of a tightfisted miller back in Winchester. Adam? No… Abel. "He can be foul tempered when he's drinking," she mumbled, taking a deep swallow of her wine. Should she say more? No, she'd done enough complaining already about his sour nature and miserly ways. Let the bruises speak for themselves.
Nora was frowning, on the verge of speech. But they were interrupted again by another customer, this one shy, not brash, clutching his woolen cap between work-roughened hands as he offered diffidently to buy them more wine. While it was not unusual for women to frequent their neighborhood alehouses and taverns, Nora and Nell were too young and attractive not to draw unwanted attention. Nora now sent the man away with a stinging, expletive-laden dismissal. For all that she looked as demure as any virgin bride, she had a command of invective that even fishmongers or sailors might well envy. As the man slunk off in embarrassment, Nell could not help feeling sorry for him. But at least they'd not be bothered again; Nora's scornful tongue-lashing had echoed throughout the tavern.
"Does this happen often, Bella?"
Nell shrugged. "Abel likes his ale, and he's hard enough to please even when he's sober…" For the first time, she felt vaguely uncomfortable about feigning friendship like this; Nora's sympathy seemed quite genuine. "The worst of it," she said, "is that he maltreats me in front of others, calling me 'slut' and 'dull-witted cow,' not caring at all if the servants or Joel can hear."