16 - The Three Kings of Cologne Read Free Page B

the hamlets and villages around Bristol, sometimes going as far as Bath or Gloucester and staying a night, sometimes two as necessity demanded, away from home. This morning, however, with the suspicion that I had a rheum coming on, judging by a sore throat and runny nose, I had loitered over breakfast and was only just filling my pack with a new stock of goods, purchased the previous day from various ships along the Backs, by the time Adela was ready to teach the two elder children their numbers and letters. Their hornbooks were laid ready on the kitchen table and she was obviously growing impatient with my continued presence.
    The knock on the street door diverted her attention, and she rose from her stool to answer it. She returned a few moments later, the young boy at her heels. Before she could enlighten me, the lad had delivered his message.
    I straightened my back and glared at him.
    ‘
Alderman
Foster to you, my lad. And what did he really say?’
    ‘I jus’ told you, didn’ I? ’E wants t’ see you.’
    I gave up. ‘What about, did he mention?’
    ‘Nah! Why should ’e? None o’ my business. But ’e gave I a half a groat.’ He opened his dirty palm to show me the coin, then bit it with his sharp, surprisingly good little teeth. ‘It’s genuine.’
    ‘I should suppose it is,’ I said. ‘I can’t imagine the Alderman would ever deal in counterfeit coins. And you’d better take care of it. That’s half a day’s wage for a field labourer.’ I looked at Adela. ‘I ought to go at once.’
    She nodded resignedly. ‘No doubt it’ll be about this body they’ve dug up at the top of Steep Street. Everyone’s talking about it.’
    ‘Perhaps,’ I answered cautiously. ‘Although what the Alderman thinks I can do about it, I don’t know.’
    She sighed. ‘Well, you’d better go and see. And you,’ she added, addressing the boy, ‘you’d better get off home before you lose that money.’
    ‘It’s safe with me, mother,’ he retorted cheekily, then stuck his tongue out at the children, who were regarding him open-mouthed, and disappeared, banging the street door noisily in his wake.
    I followed him, kissing Adela a hurried goodbye before she had time to remind me that I had a family to clothe and feed and should really be out on the road, selling my wares, not allowing myself to get involved with mysterious deaths that didn’t concern me.
    The wind had dropped slightly as I walked up Small Street amidst all the bustle of a new day. The muckrakers were out, trying to clear the drains, piling the refuse on to carts before driving it out of the city, either to dump it in the river somewhere a good way upstream, or to bury it in pits a few miles distant from the town. But it was a never-ending battle. Already, as fast as they were emptied, the drains were being filled up again. And the stench from the Shambles, where butchers were carving up the freshly killed carcasses of sheep, cows and pigs was overpowering enough this morning to make me retch. Normally, I didn’t notice it. I must be sickening for something.
    Alderman Foster’s house was basically like my own; a hall, parlour, buttery, kitchen and, upstairs, three bedchambers. Beneath street level were cellars where he stored his salt. The difference lay in the richness of the furnishings; tapestries on the walls, silver candelabra, a profusion of velvet-covered cushions on window seats and chairs, decorated wall cupboards displaying contents of pewter, silver and gold plates and drinking vessels, rugs scattered among rushes which were freshly laid and sprinkled with dried flowers. There were no children’s toys left lying around for the unwary to trip over and no noise as the little darlings themselves pounded around, screaming, overhead. And there was no scruff of a dog scratching for fleas, only two well-behaved hounds stretched out beside a fire of logs and sea coal burning steadily in the grate.
    A rosy-faced, neatly dressed young maid