The Tintern Treasure by Kate Sedley

and the second time we very nearly came to blows. Only a mutual sense of the ridiculous, the picture of two grown men fighting like schoolboys, prevented it. I wondered how we were to cover the remaining distance between Gloucester and Bristol and stay friends. That, however, was tomorrow’s problem. Meanwhile, as I had said, I had business of my own.
    Consequently, I directed my footsteps towards the north side of the abbey, where there was a small enclave of houses known as Cloister Yard, and knocked on the first door I came to. This was the entrance to a pleasant two-storey building with a walled enclosure behind it, but showing, at that season of the year, nothing more than a network of bare hawthorn branches rising above the grey stones.
    My knock went unanswered. I waited a minute or so, then knocked again. And once again, there was no reply. I stepped back and looked up at the windows, but they were all shuttered, and there was a silence about the place that convinced me no one was at home. The cloister itself was so quiet that it might have been uninhabited, and I was just preparing to leave, swearing under my breath in frustration, when an elderly woman turned into the close. She stood staring at me, saying nothing but raising her strongly marked eyebrows.
    â€˜I’m looking for Mistress Gerrish,’ I said. ‘Mistress Juliette Gerrish. Do you know her?’
    â€˜I should do,’ she answered tartly ‘I’m her companion. Who are you?’
    â€˜An – an old friend.’ I cursed that slight hesitation which immediately made the woman suspicious. I went on quickly, ‘I knew Juliette some years ago and, as I happened to find myself in Gloucester’ – I indicated my pedlar’s pack – ‘I decided to pay her a visit, for old times’ sake.’
    The woman regarded me straitly for some moments, but evidently finding nothing in either my appearance or manner to give her any particular unease, said at last, ‘As I told you, I’m her companion, Jane Spicer. Mistress Gerrish and the boy are out at this present and won’t be home yet awhile. Come again tomorrow. Who shall I say called?’
    â€˜I could wait,’ I offered. ‘Or come again this evening.’
    But this Mistress Spicer would not allow.‘I’m not prepared to be alone in the house with a stranger,’ she announced flatly. ‘And we don’t open the door once it gets dark. So, come tomorrow. Or not at all. You still haven’t told me your name.’
    â€˜What happened to her uncle, Master Moresby?’ I asked.
    â€˜He died two years ago last Michaelmas.’ The woman eyed me up and down, but I could see that her somewhat severe features had softened a little. The fact that I knew of Robert Moresby had reassured her. Nevertheless, she was not prepared to relax her rules in my favour. ‘Come again tomorrow. But first, tell me your name.’
    I could see no help for it. To withhold it would only reawaken her suspicions. On the other hand, once Juliette knew who had called, she might take steps to avoid me.
    â€˜Roger Chapman,’ I said. ‘Tell Mistress Gerrish that I shan’t leave Gloucester without seeing her.’
    This brought the frown back to Mistress Spicer’s face, so before she could question me further, I turned and walked away.
    It was too early yet to meet Oliver Tockney at the New Inn. I had stipulated the hour of Vespers and, by my reckoning, that would not be for another half-hour or more. So I joined a party of pilgrims making their way into the abbey but, once inside, detached myself from them and walked around on my own.
    The inside of the great building was busy as always, with some of the monks making ready for the service while others stood guard over Edward II’s tomb in the North Ambulatory, making sure that none of the younger pilgrims secured their own immortality by carving names or initials into the