the Crail Caper 3

 

Chapter 3

 

Our trading activities were going very well, including the sale of pantiles to an enterprising mason to replace any that blew off the houses in his neighbourhood in the ensuing autumnal gales and who informed me that,

“There maun often be a gell o’wund and folks needing their roofs for scoog afther getting drookit, for it greets a’ winter and girns a’ summer, eh.”

I think he meant it was likely to blow and folks would need shelter from being rained on as it is wet winter and summer alike.

It is a barbarous tongue.

I smiled a lot as I tried to come to grips with it; as any Flemish Mynvrau must needs have done.

The women were easier to follow as they were more likely to point to what they wanted than expect me to understand the flow of gibberish that accompanied their helpful gestures; and I could follow easily such phrases as

“Enow fer a goonie fer ma dochter,” with that young woman being indicated.  A common gown for an adult woman needs but eight yards of fabric; that is if one assume a normal width not broadcloth and any woman knows the amount of fabric that she need.  These goodwives were purchasing largely from our smallelaken, that is not a broadcloth; and the lengths being around twelve yards that meant each length held enough for a gown and a doublet, or three doublets.  And one goodie noted my own use of skirt and doublet and asked,

“Och, lassie, d’yer style o’ goonie be yer own mak’ing or is it no’ strange tae wear skirt and doolet eh?”

“I have seen such worn in London as well as other countries Mistress, and thought it practical,” I said.

“Weel, Ah’ll no deny it forbye eh,” she said.  “Ah’ve a mind tae mak’ ma oon goonie likewise; it may be a footer tae dae but Ah’m thinking worth the thole fer the ease  fer aye one half get drookit or dirty.”

“So I have found,” I said “For oft times one’s skirt gets soaked when out shopping; or one may drop grease on either it or the bodice over the cooking and changing but half a garment is easier.  Moreover, one may mix with different sleeves too for a variety of looks, seeming to have more gowns than one really has.”

“Ay Iph’m,” said that worthy digesting that.

All women have their vanity after all; it is a part of our original sin that most of us revel in and try merely not to sin too much in that direction rather than avoiding the sin at all.

This customer dickered over two lengths, one  that was something of a medley in predominantly blue and grey with other colours in it at less than regular intervals; and another in a light brown, of the shade called ‘meal’ that had darker and lighter flecks in it and was quite attractive for the same.  These small cloths are not covered by the regulation that most woollens be; indeed they may be made in part of waste wool, lamb’s wool and even the wool from dead or diseased sheep as well as wool from other sources than good English or Spanish wool.  They do not carry any seal for export guaranteeing quality but I had felt them and was satisfied in my own mind that we should not cheat our customers charging sixteen pence a yard.  For two lengths this would cost thirty shillings; and we settled down to a cheerful dickering that led to me selling the both to her for twenty six shillings, but a small profit – Ruud and I had haggled them down to eleven pence a yard from the local weaver we had bought them from – but for shifting quantity worth while, and also because I respected so shrewd and canny an housewife.  She had enough there, an she be clever, for a skirt and two doublets of each fabric, and if she cut her sleeves separate and had but one pair of sleeves to each colour – for sleeves should suffer less from the exigencies of life for being tied back or removed when cooking – she might then use the left-overs to add applique decoration to the opposite coloured garments to tie each together. I saw her covertly viewing mine own use of russet and black and I had no doubt she would be keeping a watch on me to see how else I rang the changes over the next few days.  I would if I were in her shoes; as indeed I had ever watched to see how others dressed to make more stylish garments for Robin when I was his apprentice.

I confess that with the effort to follow the strange local vernacular I was shocked enough to drop a tile when I looked up into the cynical eyes of the last person on earth I expected to see.

Comte Raoul de Beauville sûr Rhône.

“Verfloekte!”  I said, managing to remain in character.

Raoul leaped aboard, clicking his amusement from that horrid nasal scar of his.

I embraced him warmly; and so did Robin.

“Lord above,” muttered Connie “If ‘tis not the Wolf.”

“And indeed it is I, Mistress Connie,” said Raoul amicably. “Are we here working at cross purposes?”

We spoke very quietly of course, and in French; and drew him below for more private conversation.

“Mayhap,” said Robin, cautiously, in answer. “A blunt question that may even see us on our way most expeditiously an the answer be affirmative; did you kill, or have killed, Elwaud Edney?”

“Who the devil is – or rather I suppose was – Elwaud Edney?”  demanded the Wolf “I have not killed, nor caused to have killed, a man of this name, that I assure you; no, not no-one else here either.”

Robin sighed.

“Damn, there was I hoping for the easy answer that I might report to the queen, killed by enemy action.  The fellow was a spy for Her Majesty, as I may without qualm tell you seeing the fellow is dead; and I am told he was stabbed several weeks ago.  And I suppose it behoves us to find out why, an it not be for his paid treachery: for he WAS a dependant of my queen.”

“One of the things I most like about you Robert,” said Raoul, pronouncing it in the French manner, “Is your sense of responsibility to those who you feel are under your aegis.  An I grant you aid in getting to speak to people of authority, will you promise not to interfere with my plans?”

“I will not promise not to use mine eyes and report what I see; nor will I promise not to do what I can to scupper any pirate ships that might prey on the vessels of my friends,” said Robin proudly.

“No less, I suppose, than I expected,” said Raoul dryly “Will you promise to refrain directly from actively trying to find out what I be at here?”

We exchanged looks.

“Actively,” I said “Yes, I think we may make that bargain.  For one thing we have enough to do without spying on thee, old Wolf.  But look to thine own business closely, mon ami, for what we hear, what we see, we will make deduction from and thus make report.”

We were close enough to the Wolf that he and we readily used the affectionate forms of address.

He laughed.

“A battle of wits, forsooth!  Then within the hour I shall have you papers signed, asking a man known to be good at solving mysteries, to unravel an unlawful killing.  What name do you go by – Mynheer?”

“Robert van der Kirche,” said Robin.

“It shall be done, Mynheer van der Kirche.  And will you introduce me to those of thine offspring that I have not yet met? I thought there were two daughters next down from the redoubtable Adam!”

“I am,” said Pernel “But being a boy for a change has its advantages; I’m in charge of the horses and less memorable for being a boy.  Do you still have Jeanne and Thibaud that ma told us about working for you?”

He laughed.

“Yes indeed – and you must be the intrepid Pernel and angel-locks here must be Emma.  Jeanne and Thibaud are most useful to me, but I have not dragged them to a strange land where that mangle the already barbaric syllables of English into incomprehensibility.”

“It is rather mangled, isn’t it?” I said “I have trouble and I have English as my mother tongue.  I can see that the complexities of English be difficult for a foreigner with but a limited vocabulary to express himself, French lacking the richness of our island tongue.”

He grinned appreciatively. 

“Still up to form, thou English shrew,” he said.

“Oh please,” asked Emma, standing on one leg and bored by our by-play “Has Veronique had a baby yet?  We heard all about her and we want to know! And will we meet her an she be helping you?”

Raoul grinned soppily.

“Aye, I have a son, that my fond wife must needs name Félicien.  But she has lately miscarried, and so I would not bring her here.” He added, mostly to me.

I gave a cry of sorrow for her.

“Poor Veronique!  Oh I pray you, Wolf, kiss her for me and pass all our sympathies!  Have you brought the magnificent Marguerite in her stead?”

He shook his head.

“No, my sister stays with my poor Noni.  I was loath to leave her for this…venture; but my king demands,” he smiled sadly.

“Marguerite will cheer her spirits,” I said “And help her with le petit monsieur le vicomte.”

“Lord!” said Adam in disgust “Fancy being born a vicomte!  I swear it’d give me a colic worse than any Godfrey frets into!”

We told Raoul about our babies of course; and he being such a friend, told him the unvarnished truth about Cecily and saw that he, like my Goodsire, thought the more of Pernel for her loyalty to the babe and poor Sidony.  And we introduced Sebastian.

Vicomte Félicien was about the same age as Cecily.

He, however, was not standing yet.

I had to find that out, didn’t I?

Cecily also strings several words together; even if no-one else can understand them.

I wrote out in well rounded script simplified forms of Aesop’s fables and illustrated them to read to the babes, to see how early they might recognise words written down if shown them as naturally as they are introduced to the spoken word.

Seeing lions as overgrown cats Cecily says

“Ah, poor paw!” about the lion with the thorn in its paw and ‘Tan’t bell puddy!” giggling and pointing at Tom when he brings us some rodent offering.

Her favourite phrase is however,

“Me UP, pa-pa!” reaching up to Robin to be cuddled.

Godfrey and Isobel were still monosyllabic.

Scarcely surprising at just seven months and they born prematurely anyway.

 

 

Raoul it transpired was masquerading as one of his lesser titles, back to being M. Le Baron: that his contacts in Scotland not know how important an ambassador they really had.

Which proves how much the King of France trust these Scots too.

It was however a fortunate circumstance; for we both held information about each other, that of courtesy we would withhold but as the same applied to both, then neither of us should be in the other’s debt.  It mattered less between friends; but even so, it was well to have a balance.

 

 

Shortly after Raoul had withdrawn, a soberly dressed fellow approached us, waiting courteously while Pernel explained in careful English to a fine young gentleman exactly why her Friesian colt was worth an hundred shillings and at the same time admonishing him sternly about the care of a young horse.

“Och, awa’ wi ye laddie, I grew up wi’ nags,” the youth said “I’m nae likely tae spoil a fine beastie by over-riding him, and he nae broken the while eh.”

“Away with me?  Why would I go away?” asked Pernel, confused.

“I think it is a figure of speech of Mynheer’s,” I said to her.

Pernel’s face cleared.

“Did he also say he understands horses?” she asked.

“I believe he may have inferred so yes,” I said “He recognised that these beasts are not broken.”

The lad was grinning.

“Whisht, now, I’ll try tae talk fancy English,” he said.

“I’d be obliged Mynheer an you might make it intelligible at least,” said Pernel. “I know English; but I do not speak Scots.”

I liked the look of the young man.

He was a tall youth with startlingly ginger hair and green eyes and a clear skin that was mostly devoid of freckles.  He also had good teeth.  He dressed well in fine dark wools and his jerkin was of olive green camlet lined with fox fur. He did not affect the cut arse style to his hose that I so deplore; at least, I presumed not, for both doublet and jerkin were skirted as well might any sensible man wear them in these climes where his manhood be vulnerable to unmanning shrivelling for the cold.

“I’ll gi’ ye eighty shillings,” he said.

“Make it eighty five and you have a deal,” said Pernel.

“Och, ye drive a hard bargain, laddie, but hoots!  ‘tis a fine beastie,” he said.

That was a fine profit and paid for most of the other horses.

Our customer clicked his fingers and summoned his man, a dark haired sallow fellow who gave me an appreciative eye.  He wore as well as a black woollen skirted jerkin a rough woollen garment that hung from his waist to his knees woven in greens and blacks in some manner of chequer fashion not unlike the Flemish calimancos.  His hose were but short and barely reached the knee themselves. They draggled somewhat and pouched over the rough garter of twine he tied them with, and over the tops of his soft ankle length boots.  I should have thought it a prodigious draughty style of garment myself.  I wondered idly an he had good drawers on or whether he liked to be ready for any woman that he gave the eye to; and if he wore such a garment to make women wonder.  I firmly dismissed the subject; an that were the case I did not wish to give him the satisfaction.

The young man addressed him.

“Tak’ yon beastie tae ma faither’s stables, Tammas Dubh,” said he.  He turned to Pernel. “Ye need not worrit, laddie; The Dubh is a fine hand wi’ nags, for a Heelander.”

“And women too methinks,” said Pernel dryly.

The youth laughed.

“Aye, weel, mebbe so!” he said.

 

 

The man who stood watching came over now business was concluded.

“Master Van der Kirche?” he said to Pernel.

“I am Jungheer Per Van der Kirche,” she said cautiously.

“I’m thinkin’ ye’ll mebbe tak’ me tae you faither eh?” he said.

Pernel looked helplessly at me.

“You want to talk to Mynheer Van der Kirche, mine husband?”  I asked.

“Aye, did I no’ say so?”

It would not take long for those of us who were old hands at travel to absorb the idiom and to learn what they said; but in the meantime it was deuced awkward, especially remembering to maintain our own Flemish accents.

 

 

The fellow turned out to be – so far as I could unravel his explanation – to be the reeve, or whatever the Scots equivalent be, for Crail.

And having a ‘stabbit body’ in his bailiwick was ‘no’ tae his likin’.’

His name was Donal Graeme and he seemed a right honest man.

Pernel’s customer loitered to listen as Graeme spoke to Robin.

“I’m told by the Monseer Baron that ye have a veritable talent for finding out mysteries,” said Graeme “That I’d beg ye tae help wi’ a one that’s beyont me, I doot eh.”

“I can but do my best, Mynheer Graeme,” said Robin, unwontedly humbly.  Wealthy merchants we may be supposed to be; but it becomes a man to be polite to the authorities, especially in a place where he is a stranger.

“Aye, weel, ‘tis owd news, Elwaud Edney being deid near fower weeks but Monseer Baron is thinking you might ask aroond who know him and add up this and that and mak’ a muckle frae mony a mickle.”

“’Tis guid riddance Elwaud Edney is deid and gone,” said our customer.

“Haud yer whisht, Torquil Fitzbruce!” said Master Graeme “And him tae wed your sister forbye!”

“That’s interesting,” I said “That a man should be glad that his sister’s betrothed is deid – er, dead.”

Young Fitzbruce flushed.

“Och, weel, so I be glad!” he said “He wasnae ony kind o’ man at a’ tae be wedding pretty Ishbel.  Why he made me feel dirty, wha’s the way he’d mak’ her feel?”

“Mynheer Fitzbruce, we must speak to you and your sister more closely, but you be the second person I have yet come across and in so short a space of time to be glad of his death,” said Robin “For not knowing all this, I was set to do business with the man and Mynheer Andrew Laing put me right and expressed the same opinion as yourself concerning the deceased.”

Torquil Fitzbruce laughed uneasily.

“Aye, weel, Andra’ Laing’s nae but a pirate wi’ a few connections.  And his brother’s a sair gowk.”

No love lost there then; for whatever a ‘sair gowk’ might be I fancied it was no douce and kindly description of the younger Laing brother.

 

 

We made arrangement to visit the Fitzbruce home later and stay for a meal.

At the low table no doubt.

Or maybe not.  The boy seemed to be fair spoken and courteous enough in his own bizarre vernacular.

Robin looked at me when we got rid of them and all other would be customers and those who had just come to gawk at our wares.

“It would appear,” he said dryly “That Master Elwaud Edney enjoyed women as well as men.”

“Isn’t that rather greedy?” I asked.

Robin gave a shout of laughter.

“Oh how I do love thee, my dearest dear!  ‘Tis not unknown for a man to like both, you know; though generally most do have preferences for one or the other.”

I sniffed.

“Though ‘tis not proven he like both; or even either,” I said “He might like women and Master Laing be mistaken; or he might be seeking a bride to cover up his alternative practices lest he be hied afore the church authorities to answer for it; or he might seek a bride to convince himself that any urges to the contrary he is as other men are.”

Robin nodded.

“Such are possibilities to keep in mind,” he said “That he make Master Fitzbruce feel dirty is suggestive though; even an the man not acknowledged it to himself, especially in light of Master Laing’s comments.”

We should be the open face of the questions we should ask; and Vivian should contact any low criminals as was his talent.  Between us we should cover every possibility.

 

 

I dressed up a little for visiting local gentry, changing my doublet for a black woollen one guarded with russet silk and cheered up with russet and orange embroidery; it had a skirt to match, but I decided to retain my russet wool and wear instead for finery my black woollen cioppa with amber and black beads and silver threads.  On consideration I also wore my mother’s garnets that had enough of an old fashioned setting to be some family piece – as I could claim in all honesty that they were – and not valuable enough to draw too much attention to a wealthy merchant’s wife wearing them. Robin too stayed mostly in the clothes we had arrived in and added his black camlet calf length cioppa that was lined with black wolf fur and decorated with embroidered strips of matching silk.  It was a more sober outer garment than a cloak and he could take it off within the place, were it warm enough.

I wore a cloak as well, of heavy grey Suffolk broadcloth.

 

 

It was the Feast of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin; so I had every good hope, with prayer, that the greatest Mother of all would keep my children safe through this adventure.

Thus we left them for the Fitzbruce house without anticipating they get into too much trouble yet.

The walk was cold but there was no rain at the moment and my cloak kept the wind out.  The autumn colours of the bracken at the side of the track to the house we visited and the few stunted trees were lovely and I should have wished to see it in sunlight that would have made the scene almost beautiful for a gilding of light on the rich russets and browns with which my clothing toned to perfectly.  A startled buck faded into a copse as we approached, the dappled shadows on his soft brown coat hiding him utterly.  His horns were magnificent, he was a hart of twelve I judged in the brief glimpse we had, that any huntsman would consider worthy of hunting; and the noble spread of horn ready for next month’s rutting and so noble a beast likely to do well in his noisy and violent jousting with other males for possession of an harem.  An he not be taken by a poacher and be the winter’s eating well salted down in the meantime.  Rafe, who was accompanying us, muttered something about never having a longbow when you wanted one.  I was glad; the beast was magnificent and we needed not meat, so why then kill him?

A brief shaft of sunlight that struggled through the cloud gave a thin promise of how fine the scene would look an the sun actually shine in earnest.

I wonder if it does, here?

 

 

We were met at the door by a tall, dour looking man who gave us the sort of look that suggested that he expected that we had wheedled an invitation purely to steal the pewter and any other valuables the family might have had.

As the house was a fine fortified manor built all of stone that lay on the outskirts of Crail, such as any gentleman might be pleased to occupy, I suppose he had some justification, but it were still an effort not to assume the manner to depress his despite of us with hauteur so easily had it grown to be an habit.

And well to have some humility from time to time to remind us we be but ordinary humans like anyone else; even as the Caesars had a slave to ride in their chariots in Triumphal Processions to whisper ‘remember Caesar, you are only human’.

The door ward, if one might call him that, was a firm-jawed individual with heavy jowls and brown eyes like unto a lymer hound; and I could quite easily see him sniffing at a trail to bring back any miscreants.

I itched to draw him as such; and must needs wait until we had returned to our ship for we were in no wise advertising our artistic skills.

“Aye, weel, ye’ll be the merchant fellow and wifie yon young master be waiting on,” he said, discouragingly. “And ef you want my opeenion aboot the killing o’ yon gleekit body it’s nae further than his man ye should be looking, think on eh.”

“Indeed?” said Robin “What makes you say that?”

“Ay iph’m,” said that worthy “He’s a crabbit body is Sander St Andra’ and I’m aye sure he’s half drookit in heavy half the time eh.”

“Ranald, ‘tis pure jealousy on yer part,” said young Torquil coming to rescue us “Juist because ye cannae fetch up me faither’s velvet sae well as Sander did fer Edney.  Come awa’ ben, Rabbie Fleming, ye and yer wee wifie.”

I’ve rarely been referred to as wee before, being a tall woman; but these folk here were all tall.  Robin was taller than any but not by nearly as much as he was used to.

It must be the Viking blood.

Ranald grunted.

“We’ll speak to you more later, Ranald, an we may,” said Robin “We need everyone’s opinion to get a clear picture.”

Ranald’s dour brow cleared slightly.

That was to say, he looked merely dour, not dour and er, crabbit.

 

 

Torquil’s father Somerled Fitzbruce was a fine looking old gentleman to the first glance, his hair less effulgent than his son’s for the fine grey hairs within it producing the effect they call ‘pepper and salt’.  He wore a velvet robe guarded with silk and decorated with orphrey that suffered somewhat for Ranald’s deficiencies with velvet, for the pile was depressed in places where stains and – most likely – wax had been removed with more enthusiasm than skill.  The old man also had some fine rings; but the moment he opened his mouth the slight slurring of speech and vague manner told us that either he was drunk or had suffered what country folk call an elf-stroke; that was less likely than inebriation since it be not usually accompanied by vagueness nor by faintly sour breath such as my delicate nose detected.

There are those people who are rarely if ever roaring drunk; but who are never sober, and Somerled Fitzbruce struck me as one of those.

And the yellowness of the whites of his eyes told me that he drank enough to make him liverish as well.  I have seen enough habitual drunkards to be fairly certain he would likely ‘drown in a barrel of malmsey wine,” as the saying goes even as is said the Duke of Clarence did; and the old man would be dead within a couple of years.

“M-Master Robert, ‘Tis guid tae meet ye,” he said “Are ye a frien’ o’ puir Elwaud?”

Robin shook his head.

“I had but hoped to do business with him, Mynheer, and because I have a reputation, as Monsier le

Baron knows, I and my wife, we have been asked by Mynheer Donal Graeme to look into his death.”

The old man shook his head sadly.

“It’s a sair shame.  Forbye that he wis sae young and braw, he was tae be ma son ere lang.  And a guid son he’d hae bin, always awfu’ ready tae listen tae an auld man’s tales.”

“Aye,” murmured Torquil cynically “He wis aye one tae be cosying up tae ony body that cuid tell tales o’ the high yins near royalty eh.”

“Naw then Torquil, wha’ for shuid he no’ be interested?” said the youth’s father “Ah ken plenty o’ men at coort, and mony an ane tak’ an interest.”

I wager, an Edney could pump this old man in his cups for something to pass on to the queen.

Torquil frowned.

“It’s ma belief he wis afther something for it.  Him bein’ ane as canna’ see green cheese but his een birl.”

“I pray you, Mynheer, you must translate that last sentence for me,” I said, thoroughly lost.

Torquil blinked.

“Oh – that he wis awfu’ envious anything a body hed that he hadnae,” he said.

That made it clearer although I should have loved a more direct translation of the bizarre phrase.

 

 

Torquil’s sister arrived at this juncture.

She looked like a woman that had received a disappointment but no deep bereavement; either that or she was extraordinarily self controlled.

We exchanged curtseys; and I remembered to curtsey to a social superior.

She was dressed in fine grey wool that I thought might have had soft goatshair in it, a mohair as it is called; but her sleeves were black and white brocade and the hem had a strip of the same fabric about it as purflage.  The brocade had been cut at the edge around the pattern of leaves and the pattern of the brocade carried on to her grey skirts in black couched lines of embroidery to the hem beneath and for several inches, an equivalent distance, above.  It was skilfully done and I wondered an she be the embroideress or whether she had paid to have it done.  The quiet wealth of the household suggested she could afford to have it done; but she might have liked to sew.  It is an expression of personality that is the only one open to many women and thus enjoyed for that reason by those not fortunate to have a good trade even as I have.  And cutting around the leaves and then embroidering out from them would be a good way to make over such worn gowns as I was puzzling how best to use as were in the attic chests at Monkshithe, and also some from Wytch Hall in Dorset.

The sober colours set off to perfection her creamy skin and red hair that was darker and less orange than her brother’s; she had not even so many freckles as he, so either she avoided the sun – which I doubted, since she did not have that unhealthy pallor of one who does – or she treated them assiduously with elderflower, wood sorrel and daisy heads that Ovid recommends; and that is also supposed to lighten a sallow skin but worketh not on such as mine for in my foolish youth I tried it.

Medicamina Faciei Feminaeae describes any number of messes that a young woman may cook up to lard onto their faces, and in mine opinion they had done better to use the lentils and other vegetables so described to make a nourishing pottage for more men may be caught by the belly than by outstandingly good looks; at least if they be tolerably sensible men that realise that all women’s looks fade but a good cook is to be had forever.

“Ma name is Ishbel,” she said in a deep, musical voice “Wha’ can I dae tae help ye find oot who kill’t ma betrothed?  I cannae see why ony man shuid wish tae, for he wis a braw laddie wi’ a birl I’ the ee but nae lack tae his manners forbye.”

I think she was implying he was a dashing fellow with what might be a twinkling eye but who never stepped beyond the mark.

“I pray you, what is this ‘birl’ that people speak of, I think in connection with the eye?” I asked for confirmation.

“Och, it is tae – tae spin aroond; o’ course the een cannae spin aroond it is a figure o’ speech fer a lively look,” said Ishbel. 

“What I would know then as a twinkle to the eye?” I asked; and she nodded confirmation.

So many different opinions of the same man!

And two complimentary and two anything but so far.  We must talk to these people and try to see where the truth lay in between the two extremes; or indeed if Elwaud Edney was enough of a villain to seem one thing to his betrothed and her father and have his true character seen by others.

The mystery about who and what Elwaud Edney was seemed almost as profound as that of who might have killed him.

But then, finding out what manner of man he really was might yet lead us to what manner of man had killed him for oft times, an you know the man, you then also know the manner of his enemies and why he be killed.

Once you have the why, the who becomes almost inevitable to recover.