nothing to Margery. 'The minstrel. The one they say struck down Master Walter. But I'm sure he did not! She said I may go, see for myself how he's faring - because I was crying ...'
'I remember him,' said Margery. 'A little man, very young. They're sure he's the guilty one, and you are sure he is not?' Her blue eyes were demure. She hunted through the pile of garments on her arm, and very faintly and fleetingly she smiled. 'He was not too well clothed, I recall. There is a cotte here that was my husband's some years ago, and a capuchon. The little man could wear them, I think. Take them with you. It would be a pity to waste them. And charity is approved of in Heaven, even to sinners.'
She sorted them out gravely, a good dark-blue coat outgrown while it was still barely patched, and a much-mended caped hood in russet brown. 'Take them! They're of no use here.' None, except for the satisfaction it gave her to despatch them to the insignificant soul condemned by every member of her new family. It was her gesture of independence.
Rannilt, every moment more dazed, took the offerings and tucked them into her basket, made a mute reverence, and fled before this unprecedented and hardly credible vein of good will should run out, and food, clothing, holiday and all fall to ruin round her.
Susanna cooked, served, scoured and went about her circumscribed realm with a somewhat grim smile on her lips. The provisioning of the house under her governance was discreetly more generous than ever it had been under Dame Juliana, and on this day there was enough and to spare, even after she had carried his usual portion to Iestyn in the workshop, and sat with him for company while he ate, to bring back the dish to the kitchen afterwards. What remained was not worth keeping to use up another day, but there was enough for one. She shredded the remains of the boiled salt beef into it, and took it across to the locksmith's shop, as she had sometimes done before when there was plenty.
John Boneth was at work at his bench, and looked up as she entered, bowl in hand. She looked about her, and saw everything in placid order, but no sign of Baldwin Peche, or the boy Griffin, probably out on some errand.
'We have a surfeit, and I know your master's no great cook. I brought him his dinner, if he hasn't eaten already.'
John had come civilly to his feet, with a deferential smile for her. They had known each other five years, but always at this same discreet distance. The landlord's daughter, the rich master-craftsman's girl, was no meat for a mere journeyman.
'That's kind, mistress, but the master's not here. I've not seen him since the middle of the morning, he's left me two or three keys to cut. I fancy he's off for the day. He said something about the fish rising.'
There was nothing strange in that. Baldwin Peche relied on his man to take charge of the business every bit as competently as he could have done himself, and was prone to taking holidays whenever it suited his pleasure. He might be merely making the round of the ale-houses to barter his own news for whatever fresh scandal was being whispered, or he might be at the butts by the riverside, betting on a good marksman, or out in his boat, which he kept in a yard near the Watergate, only a few minutes down-river. The young salmon must be coming up the Severn by this time. A fisherman might well be tempted out to try his luck.
'And you don't know if he'll be back?' Susanna read his face, shrugged and smiled. 'I know! Well, if he's not here to eat it ... I daresay you have still room to put this away, John?' He brought with him, usually, a hunk of bread and a strip of salt bacon or a piece of cheese, meat was festival fare in his mother's house. Susanna set down her bowl before him on the bench, and sat down on the customer's stool opposite, spreading her elbows comfortably along the boards. 'It's his loss. In an ale-house he'll pay more for poorer fare. I'll sit with you, John, and take back
'I remember him,' said Margery. 'A little man, very young. They're sure he's the guilty one, and you are sure he is not?' Her blue eyes were demure. She hunted through the pile of garments on her arm, and very faintly and fleetingly she smiled. 'He was not too well clothed, I recall. There is a cotte here that was my husband's some years ago, and a capuchon. The little man could wear them, I think. Take them with you. It would be a pity to waste them. And charity is approved of in Heaven, even to sinners.'
She sorted them out gravely, a good dark-blue coat outgrown while it was still barely patched, and a much-mended caped hood in russet brown. 'Take them! They're of no use here.' None, except for the satisfaction it gave her to despatch them to the insignificant soul condemned by every member of her new family. It was her gesture of independence.
Rannilt, every moment more dazed, took the offerings and tucked them into her basket, made a mute reverence, and fled before this unprecedented and hardly credible vein of good will should run out, and food, clothing, holiday and all fall to ruin round her.
Susanna cooked, served, scoured and went about her circumscribed realm with a somewhat grim smile on her lips. The provisioning of the house under her governance was discreetly more generous than ever it had been under Dame Juliana, and on this day there was enough and to spare, even after she had carried his usual portion to Iestyn in the workshop, and sat with him for company while he ate, to bring back the dish to the kitchen afterwards. What remained was not worth keeping to use up another day, but there was enough for one. She shredded the remains of the boiled salt beef into it, and took it across to the locksmith's shop, as she had sometimes done before when there was plenty.
John Boneth was at work at his bench, and looked up as she entered, bowl in hand. She looked about her, and saw everything in placid order, but no sign of Baldwin Peche, or the boy Griffin, probably out on some errand.
'We have a surfeit, and I know your master's no great cook. I brought him his dinner, if he hasn't eaten already.'
John had come civilly to his feet, with a deferential smile for her. They had known each other five years, but always at this same discreet distance. The landlord's daughter, the rich master-craftsman's girl, was no meat for a mere journeyman.
'That's kind, mistress, but the master's not here. I've not seen him since the middle of the morning, he's left me two or three keys to cut. I fancy he's off for the day. He said something about the fish rising.'
There was nothing strange in that. Baldwin Peche relied on his man to take charge of the business every bit as competently as he could have done himself, and was prone to taking holidays whenever it suited his pleasure. He might be merely making the round of the ale-houses to barter his own news for whatever fresh scandal was being whispered, or he might be at the butts by the riverside, betting on a good marksman, or out in his boat, which he kept in a yard near the Watergate, only a few minutes down-river. The young salmon must be coming up the Severn by this time. A fisherman might well be tempted out to try his luck.
'And you don't know if he'll be back?' Susanna read his face, shrugged and smiled. 'I know! Well, if he's not here to eat it ... I daresay you have still room to put this away, John?' He brought with him, usually, a hunk of bread and a strip of salt bacon or a piece of cheese, meat was festival fare in his mother's house. Susanna set down her bowl before him on the bench, and sat down on the customer's stool opposite, spreading her elbows comfortably along the boards. 'It's his loss. In an ale-house he'll pay more for poorer fare. I'll sit with you, John, and take back
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