10 - The Goldsmith's Daughter by Kate Sedley Page A

be staying to supper?’
    ‘I – er – I have no idea, my dear.’ He turned to me. ‘Master Chapman, would you care to share our evening meal with us? You would be very welcome.’
    ‘I was unaware that the day was so far advanced,’ I said, getting to my feet. ‘Thank you for your offer, Mistress Bonifant, but I must go back to the Voyager and take supper with my wife. This visit to London was to have been a holiday for both of us, and I cannot neglect her any further this evening. Tomorrow being Sunday, I shan’t disturb your Sabbath peace, but, with your permission, Master Babcary, I’ll return on Monday and question the other members of your household.’
    ‘If you think you can solve the riddle of my son-in-law’s death, we shall be glad to see you,’ he answered heavily. He glanced somewhat shamefacedly at his daughter, where she still stood framed in the open doorway. ‘I’m sorry, my dear, but I’ve had to tell Master Chapman everything.’
    ‘If by that you mean that Gideon seems to have gone around accusing me of adultery,’ Isolda replied evenly, ‘it’s only what I should have expected you to do, Father. There’s no need to apologise. Thanks to the testimony of Gregory Napier and Master Ford, the apothecary, everyone in Cheapside has heard about it.’
    I half expected her to plunge into a hot denial of her late husband’s allegation, but she did no such thing, and I began to realise that heat and Isolda Bonifant were strangers to one another. She was a woman of even greater self-control and self-containment than my Adela but, then, according to Master Babcary, Gideon had been of a similar temperament, and they seemed to have been eminently well suited to one another. It was possible, however, that one of them had been acting a part.
    I took my leave of Mistress Bonifant and was conducted downstairs again by my host. As we turned towards the inner shop door, Meg Spendlove emerged, and at the sight of me, she shied like a startled horse. The tin tray she was carrying by her side clattered against the wall, and her thin, white face puckered as though she were about to burst into tears.
    ‘There, there, my good child,’ Miles Babcary said soothingly, ‘that will do. There’s no need to be frightened. No one’s going to hurt you. Have you taken Master Kit and young Toby their ale? That’s all right, then. Off you go to the kitchen before something boils over and puts out the fire.’ He added, so that only I could hear, ‘Not an infrequent occurrence, I do assure you, Master Chapman.’
    Christopher Babcary and Tobias Maybury were still at their work, the interior of the shop lit now by lamps and candles, the flames reflected a hundred times over in the depths of the various gold and silver objects and precious gems. Many more of the sparkling golden medallions had been made, ready to be bought and sewn on the silk and velvet gowns of London’s wealthiest ladies, so that they could ripple with light whenever they moved. No doubt, I thought bitterly, there was some sumptuary law that restricted the medallions’ use to noblewomen only, but then I had to smile as I considered that probably no such law was necessary. For what good would these fragile, wafer-thin golden discs be to women who wore homespun and coarse, thickly woven linen?
    Master Babcary was looking around in obvious satisfaction, his troubles momentarily forgotten. He was a man who plainly loved his trade, and who was never happier than when he was in his workshop. He would have had little time, then, for a man like Gideon Bonifant, who seemed to have regarded the art of goldsmithing merely as a means of making money. And as if to confirm that impression, Miles had taken my arm and was drawing me towards a small table where a coronet of entwined gold and silver ivy leaves was taking shape.
    ‘For my kinswoman, Mistress Shore,’ he said, picking it up and holding it lovingly between both hands, ‘to be worn next week at the