14 - The Burgundian's Tale Read Online Free PDF Page B

very little information to aid me in my search. I looked thoughtfully at the faitours, who either whined for alms or, when they had assessed my social standing and probable worth, gave me back stare for stare, poked out their tongues and made other obscene gestures which I am too much of a gentleman to describe. But I decided they could wait. They would still be here whenever I was ready to speak to them.
    ‘Very well,’ I said to my companion. ‘Now you can show me the house in the Strand where Mistress St Clair and her husband live; then we’ll retrace our footsteps back to the city, to Needlers Lane.’
    At my request, we walked the whole length of the Strand as far as the Chère Reine Cross, because I wished to renew my acquaintance with this part of London-Without-the-Walls, where the tentacles of the city were creeping further and further into the countryside between the capital and Westminster. Then we walked back again.
    On our right were some of the finest houses in and around London – magnificent four-storey affairs with well-tended gardens running down to their own water-steps and landing stages on the Thames. Mansions, I suppose, would not have been too strong a word for many of them. Here, the great palace of the Savoy had once stood before it was destroyed during the insurrection of the peasants almost a hundred years before.
    At the Fleet Street end, however, were three smaller houses; still handsome, but modest by comparison with the rest: they lacked a storey and were narrower in width. Nevertheless, the gardens were just as pleasant, and the overall impression was of money, possibly hard-earned, but plenty of it and well spent.
    ‘I think Master Plummer said one of those three belongs to Mistress St Clair.’ Bertram rubbed his nose apprehensively. ‘But I’m not sure which. The middle one, I think.’
    ‘Don’t worry. We’ll soon find out.’ I smiled at him, not displeased that he seemed a little wary of my displeasure. (I judged him to be a youth who could easily get too cocky.) ‘But first we’re going to pick up my pack and cudgel at the Voyager and then we’ll pay a visit to Needlers Lane.’

Three
    I n the event, I paid the visit alone, leaving young Master Serifaber to kick his heels in the ale room of the Voyager until my return.
    Upon reflection, I had decided that it might be as well not to advertise – at least, not immediately – the Duke of Gloucester’s interest in this affair, which my companion’s blue and murrey livery, together with the badge of the White Boar, most certainly would do.
    ‘Just to begin with, I’ll spy out the lie of the land on my own,’ I told him.
    ‘I’ve been instructed to help you,’ Bertram complained fretfully. ‘After all,
I’m
supposed to be the spy.’
    ‘You’re a novice at this game, my lad,’ I retorted, ‘and don’t you forget it. You’re here to do my bidding. And if I have any nonsense, you’ll find yourself back at Baynard’s Castle quicker than you can blink. I don’t think Master Plummer would be very pleased about that, do you?’
    He grumbled mutinously under his breath, but was forced to cave in.
    I patted his shoulder. ‘I can’t conceal Duke Richard’s involvement for long,’ I consoled him. ‘Then you shall live in my pocket.’
    He grinned at that and took himself off to sample Reynold Makepeace’s best ale with the money I had given him as a bribe for his good behaviour. I crossed the road and turned into Needlers Lane. A quick enquiry of a passer-by elicited the fact that Broderer’s workshop was on the right-hand side, at the far end, where the street we were in joined Soper Lane.
    It wasn’t difficult to find. Not only was it the largest workshop in the vicinity, but it had an imposing sign above the door, bearing the somewhat faded, but still readable legend ‘ EDMUND BRODERER ’ in red paint. I hitched up my pack and went inside.
    I knew nothing about embroidery, but I didn’t need to in order