“Then there is nothing more to say. I must go.” He reached the doorway and even stepped through it before he made himself stop. Over his shoulder he said, “You are tying the noose about his neck yourself by refusing to say.”
“But you could stop it, Crispin.”
“I will testify at his trial and nothing will stop me then. If he is innocent, then I am certain the jury will find him so. But trouble me no more about it. I have too much work to do.”
He stalked forward out of the room, but Jenkyn pushed out from the anteroom curtains and stood in his way. A frown darkened the servant’s features and he would not move. His smooth face free of lines belonged to a younger man. He wore his years well. Crispin wanted to say something to the man, wanted to warn him of her unreliable devotion, but in the end he could say nothing out loud. There were no more words for him at the moment; nothing articulate except to growl his sentiments.
Angrily Crispin shoved Jenkyn aside without a word. Outside, he rumbled along the lane. He must get to Newgate. That thought and only that thought drummed in his ears. He hated to ask the sheriff for a mount. What if he refused? Would he be forced to tell him the whole degrading tale? His dagger, purse, and shabby cloak were all Vivienne left him and he pulled that mantle over his chest with a grunt.
“I have to get to Newgate,” he grumbled, and felt uncertain relief when it came into view.
A shadowy figure stomped before the walls to keep warm and it suddenly cheered Crispin to see it. He slapped Jack on the back in greeting and told him to wait by the stables. Jack trotted away gratefully, but when Crispin entered Wynchecombe’s chamber, the sheriff did not look pleased to see him.
“This writ is done, Crispin,” he said over a mound of parchments.
Crispin shook his head reluctantly. “No, my lord. I fear it is not.”
“Damn you, Guest! What is it you want? More money? I will not pay.”
“My lord, I believe Stephen has an accomplice. I must pursue her, but I need a horse.”
“What? Now you want a horse? From my stable?”
Crispin studied his borrowed shoes. They were slightly larger than his own shoes and less worn. He decided he would stuff them with straw the next time he donned them. “As you know, my lord, I no longer own a horse, nor can I afford to hire one.”
“How do I know you will bring it back?”
Crispin raised his face.
“Never mind,” said Wynchecombe. “I suppose you will berate me until I relent?”
“You are generous, my lord,” he said flatly.
“I have not yet said I would agree to this.” He furrowed his brow and bristled his mustache in his most sincere expression of displeasure. Hastily he scribbled his name on a writ and thrust it forward. “Here! Get you to the stable and bring back your prisoner, or I swear my oath to the Almighty that I shall lock you in a cell and throw away the key!”
Crispin waved the writ at the stable’s guard, relieved the sheriff’s man did not choose to argue. He met Jack and the boy watched as he quickly saddled a mare, the only horse the sheriff was willing to give him. “I will take Aldgate. There is a small convent she may be staying in outside of London. She will not expect me to follow.”
“And what of me, sir?”
What of him? How many days ago now was it that he caught the cutpurse stealing his last bit of money? And now Jack was becoming a permanent feature in his life. It was with a certain amount of irony that he reached into his purse. He gestured to the surprised boy and dropped the coins into Jack’s open hand. “Take them. You may need them if I am gone longer than a day. Keep all well in my lodgings.”
Jack was momentarily silenced before he was able to rasp a hasty, “Thank you, Master.” He held tightly to the bridle. “God keep you, sir. Come back safe and sound.” From his tunic he pulled a small loaf of bread and a wedge of cheese. “For your journey, sir.”
Crispin took them solemnly and stuffed them into the scrip at his belt. He dared not ask where Tucker got them, for he did not remember such from his own pantry.
He swung up onto the saddle and settled like he used to do on the smooth leather. He grasped the reins and wrapped them about his hand. “I will, Jack.” He pulled up on the reins and spun the horse about. He squeezed with his thighs and felt the horse surge ahead over the stony courtyard until he was free of Newgate’s confines and headed down Newgate Market to the other end of town toward Aldgate, where he could take a road into the countryside.
London’s streets were crowded as they always were, and he maneuvered the beast down narrow lanes clogged with donkey carts and pedestrians. It took less time than he reckoned to reach the gatehouse at Aldgate, he tipped a bow to the guards there, who didn’t give him more than a glance.
Once out on the open road, he let the scenery pass him by without much note, and though his mission was a mixed bag of embarrassment and anger, he allowed his thoughts to turn to the pleasant sensation of sitting aloft a horse.
The feel of the horse’s gait beneath him, the leather in his hand, and the pungent scent of the animal, was all a salve to his aching heart. Such simple joys. He missed them the most. He almost missed them more than the jousts and the finery and the huge feasts that lasted for hours. And the dancing. An accomplished dancer, Crispin had taken his turn with the women of court and they’d compete for their place with him. He remembered the halls filled with candles. How the smoky galleries above the dance floor would crowd with intimate couples seeking a quiet and discreet place, and how he would find himself there many a time with a willing lady. He missed that, too. He missed the artful games of courting, their subtleties and rules. He missed the masculine camaraderie of knights discussing the lists or a battle.
But the simplest of pleasures like riding his own horse with his own tack tailored to him, were particularly missed.
Perhaps it took his meeting again with Rosamunde to finally believe he would never have those things again. They were gone. As ephemeral as mist.
He stroked the horse’s mane and patted the neck while it bobbed with the rhythm of her gait. London fell behind him and gave way to green rolling hills and farmland. Windmills on distant hillocks moved their sweeps sluggishly, like squires flagging down a knight on the lists. The occasional grange house spilled into the view, their rambling stone gates along the road marking their territories. He saw little else but sheep and cows grazing over the hillsides.
By midday, he took a small portion of Jack’s bread and cheese from his scrip and nibbled as he rode, letting the horse take his own pace.
He reached the small convent by early evening. The porter at the gatehouse stared uncomprehendingly at the writ Crispin held out for him to see. “If it’s the sheriff’s business,” he said, “then I’ll oblige. What is it you want?”
“I am looking for a lady who may or may not be using her true name. She is Lady Stancliff, Vivienne by name.”
“Oh, aye. She is here. She is traveling to Chelmsford.” He leaned forward bearing a burning cage of coals. Bits of burning embers spit and fell from his cresset. “Are you going to arrest her?”
“I might. Has she an entourage with her?”
“Only two maids and one manservant. But he is older than I. He won’t put up much of a fight.”
Crispin tightened his hold of the reins. “Then where may I find the lady?”
“Through the arch and to the right. There’s a small cottage there near the stewponds. Will you be needing help?” The porter grasped a large staff propped in a corner. “I used to be a fair fighter with the staff in my day.”
“I do not think that will be necessary, but I thank you.”
Crispin dismounted and tied the horse near the gatehouse arch. On foot he approached the cottage and stealthily made his way to the window. The shutters were barred but he made out the lay of the room through a crack. The hearth light glowed enough for him to see two maids working on the seated Vivienne. Her hair lay unbound from their braids and each maid brushed out a long strand of it like a horse’s tail. The light shimmered along her black tresses and fell in feathery layers to her uncovered shoulders, for she wore only her shift.