Part 13 (1/2)

'Let her in, Dawson.'

The young man bowed his head. 'As you wish, Master Pinchbeak.'

Pinchbeak gestured to Millicent to follow him, and she matched his slow progress toward the far wall of the parvis. He walked with a stick, topped by a carved skull of ivory that looked small beneath a ma.s.sive hand, which belied his compact frame. He didn't look at her until they had taken a seat, and he said nothing once they were settled, merely raising an untamed eyebrow.

Millicent reached into her bodice and removed her medal, the silver replica of St Leonard that still identified her with Bromley. She displayed it for Pinchbeak. His expression softened. 'As you see, Master Pinchbeak,' she began, 'I was once a poor laysister of St Leonard, no more than a peeler of roots to that great house. Yet I come to beg the indulgence of a lawman famed across England for the wisdom of his counsel.'

Pinchbeak, ignoring her flattery, studied her face, his gaze wandering freely over her features and down to her breast. 'We've met before.'

'I don't believe so, Master Pinchbeak,' she quickly said. She stole a glance at his collar, a band of chained silver about his neck with a pendant badge below, bejewelled with the livery of his affinity: a single white star, opposed fields of gold and red, the whole surrounded by ornate tangles of vines, leaves, and flowers, the subtlest metalwork to be had in London. The gifting of this collar had been a sign of singular distinction, marking Pinchbeak as a prestigious member of that extended network of knights, squires, freemen, and servants...o...b..ting Robert de Vere, Earl of Oxford.

Pinchbeak tilted his head. 'I'm rarely wrong about such things. But no matter. State your business. Always happy to help out a sister of Bromley, whether lay or avowed.'

She spoke of the book. His face remained impa.s.sive as she described the volume and its poetry, the dark histories inscribed in its strange verses; the cloth and its heraldry, the incriminating livery woven in its strands. She recited the four bits of prophecy she had gotten by rote, including the one that mattered most, on the death of King Richard. She said nothing about the manner in which the book had come to her, nor about the murdered girl. This piece of the story, she suspected, might prove more useful at a later point.

All the while Pinchbeak observed her with a practised calm, his fingers steepled before his sharp nose. She could not read the lawman's eyes even as well as she had read the book, though in their depths she sensed genuine concern. The hollow of his neck created a dark well of stubbled skin that pulsed as he listened. She was watching a vein throb beneath his chin when he finally spoke.

'To whom else have you uttered these lines?' He leaned forward slightly.

'You are the first,' Millicent lied. 'The very first, Master Pinchbeak.'

She waited. With a shuddering groan, the bell struck in the St Paul's belfry far above, wrapping Millicent in its deep throb and shaking her guts like jelly in a bowl.

Pinchbeak remained still through the last of the clamour, his gaze on Millicent far from kind. 'You deal rather freely with these prophecies,' he said into the final, dying tone.

'Though freely is not how I hope to part with them, Master Pinchbeak,' she countered.

His frown was severe. 'You haven't the devil's idea what unholy h.e.l.l you've dug yourself into, Mistress-'

'Rykener,' she said on an impulse, thinking of the Gropec.u.n.t maudlyn showing up at her door. Through the parvis gate she saw Agnes, lingering by the stairs. 'Eleanor Rykener is my name.' Her sister would flay her if she knew she had betrayed her friend in this way, yet giving her own name would lead the authorities right to her door.

'Mistress Rykener,' Pinchbeak said, attempting patience, though she could now see the cords in his neck standing out against his skin, which had coloured to a deep purple, 'I've heard noises from others about this book. A hideous thing, and if what you say is true, if you really have it, why, you've dug yourself a pretty little hole. The very words you've uttered in my presence the words alone are treason.'

Millicent subtly smiled. She had Pinchbeak just where she wanted him. 'Though they are not my words, good sir. Nor my treason described in the prophecy.'

'Not your words,' Pinchbeak said, sitting back. There was a challenge in his gaze, perhaps even a small degree of admiration. 'Yet whose words are they? That's the question, hmm?'

She shrugged. 'Though to my purposes a useful one only insofar as it aids me in their sale.'

'Your purposes will best be served by bringing this book to me. You'll receive a handsome fee, I a.s.sure you.'

At last. 'And the size of this fee, Master Pinchbeak?'

He thought about it. 'Four marks.'

Millicent sniffed. 'Four marks? Four marks, when a prince's ransom would hardly suit? Think of your own reward, Master Pinchbeak, should you deliver this book of prophecies to your lord. And the penalty should he learn that you were presented with the opportunity to recover it but failed.'

He sputtered for a moment, but he knew she was right. 'Let us be clear on this, Mistress Rykener. The line you quoted concerning the day of the regicide, the feast of St Dunstan. The thirteenth prophecy is clear on this matter?'

Millicent nodded and repeated the two lines: 'By Half-ten of Hawks might shender be shown, On day of Saint Dunstan shall Death have his doom.'

Pinchbeak rose with some difficulty, his right arm shaking on his stick. 'What's to prevent me from having you seized this very moment?' he asked. 'Here you are, femme sole in the presence of a serjeant-at-law, with no husband to s.h.i.+eld you. Newgate is full of traitors this season, man and woman alike.'

Millicent had antic.i.p.ated this. 'I have made certain arrangements for the disposition of the book in case I'm taken, Master Pinchbeak. It's safely hidden.'

'I see,' he said, looking sceptical. 'And you intend to approach every prominent man in London with this book until you find one ready to snap it up?'

'Only those known for the keenness of their discernment. Their wisdom in making difficult choices.'

He gave her a thin smile, then leaned forward awkwardly, his breath warming her cheek as he wedged his stick between his chest and the parvis pavers. 'Come see me next Friday, Mistress Rykener, in my rooms at Scroope's, the serjeants' inn at Ely Place. By then I will have inquired about these prophecies. If I learn there is anything to them we'll discuss a suitable price.'

Millicent, delighted, rose from her bench while Pinchbeak turned away for the company of his fellow serjeants. She rejoined Agnes at the south porch and they headed back to Cornhull, talking excitedly about the fortune that awaited them. Though she felt a nagging worry that Pinchbeak's inquiries might lead him to spurn her offer, Millicent had been stirred by the encounter, and had no intention of waiting until the next week to inquire with Pinchbeak about his price. Why, the serjeant-at-law could make an offer for the book along with other gentlemen interested in its purchase. They had settled on the next wealthy man to approach when Agnes tugged her sleeve.

'What do you suppose he wants, Mil?'

'Who?' The turn for her house was just ahead.

'Man over there. Spicerer, looks like.'

Millicent looked to see George Lawler, standing before his shop and urging them over. He was agitated, his gaze s.h.i.+fting left and right. Arm in arm, the sisters crossed over and cleared the gutter. 'Yes, Master Lawler?' Millicent said when they reached him.

'Men've come.' He peered back into his shop. 'To your house, and also here.'

'Pratt, sure, and his son,' Millicent said. 'He'll have what I owe him, as soon as I've settled with you.'

'Not Pratt.'

'Who, then?'

'Loy if I know. Constables? But not of our ward, that's certain. Had the long knives at their sides, no badges. Asked after the sisters Fonteyn, do I know them, know their whereabouts.'

Millicent gasped. 'The sisters Fonteyn?'

'Knew that one of them, the rich one, frequented Lawler's. With a fondness for sugared things. And that the younger one's a mau-' He stopped himself. 'Didn't know you had a sister.'

Millicent turned to Agnes, her fury rising. 'And how could they have known, Agnes? Spreading rumour of your famed chast.i.ty about the city, hoping it would burnish my name?'

Agnes stepped back as if struck. 'I been gone from Gropec.u.n.t Lane weeks now, Mil. So they're looking for me, looking for the b-'

'Stop!' Millicent cried.

They all turned at a harsh laugh from Lawler's shop door. Mistress Lawler, arms folded, taking it all in. 'Look at the s.h.i.+ny side of the coin, your ladys.h.i.+p,' she said as Millicent felt herself redden. 'Least now you'll have an honest way of working off your debts.'

Millicent turned and strode off, Agnes hurrying behind her.

'Never had a doubt about that one, Lawler,' she called to their backs. 'A maud's a maud, wherever she gets her pennies. Let that be a lesson to you, George. The wisdom of wives, deep as the sea is green.'