The Burgundian’s Tale

‘Strange, Martin going like that,’ he remarked, after he had thanked me. ‘He was only saying to me the other day that he felt better in health than he had done for a long time. He suffered from attacks of breathlessness, you know, but thought they had lessened since that stretch of the Thames had been cleared of some of the muck and sediment on the river bed. Farringdon Without has always been one of the more public spirited and progressive wards.’

The pot boy brought Lionel’s ale, which he downed almost in one gulp, letting out a great ‘Ahhh!’ of satisfaction and wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

‘You were thirsty.’

He nodded. ‘The workshop gets very hot this time of day.’

‘Tell me,’ I said, ‘do you recollect a young boy who used to work in Mistress St Clair’s garden?’ Even as I spoke, I wondered why I always referred to the house and garden as Judith’s and never Godfrey’s. Perhaps because it was her house, where she had lived ever since her marriage to Edmund Broderer. As Lionel looked puzzled, I went on, ‘He’d have been about ten or so at the time. Nell’s younger brother.’

‘Nell?’ His frown deepened.

‘One of the kitchen maids.’

‘Oh! Yes, I think I know who you mean: the little, thin one. That’s right.’ He broke off to shout for another mazer of ale before returning to his ruminations. ‘Yes, I’d forgotten all about him. So he was Nell’s brother, was he? I don’t think I ever knew that. Nothing like her to look at. Square-set little fellow. Why do you ask?’

‘Nell mentioned to me today that he’d disappeared. Vanished a couple of years ago without telling anyone where he was going.’

‘Probably stowed away on one of the ships berthed along the wharves. Boys of that age want adventure.’

‘That’s what I said. But Nell seemed to think he wasn’t that sort. Liked gardening. Not the adventurous kind, according to her.’

Lionel swallowed his second cup of ale with as much gusto as the first, then stared thoughtfully into the empty pot. ‘Is this important?’

I pursed my lips. ‘I don’t know,’ I answered frankly. ‘Probably not. On the other hand, it might be. The truth is, any facts are better than no facts, and at the moment, I don’t feel I’m any closer to solving the Burgundian’s murder than I was three days ago.’

‘I tell you what,’ Lionel said, ‘come back with me to the workshop. My mother’s there today, helping out, as two of the girls are sick with the bellyache. She knows a great deal more about Judith and her household than I do. She gets all the gossip from Paulina Graygoss. You couldn’t exactly call them friends, but Mother has a knack of wheedling information out of people.’

‘Thank you. I’ll do that if you think Mistress Broderer won’t mind.’

Lionel roared with laughter. ‘Mind! She’ll welcome you with open arms. Apart from the fact that she’s fond of a good-looking young man, she’ll be delighted with any excuse to rest her eyes a while. She finds some of the close work more trying than she cares to let on.’

I glanced at Bertram. ‘Do you want to come?’

But I wasn’t surprised when he refused, giving as his reason that he ought to get back to Baynard’s Castle and report to Timothy Plummer. Time spent in the company of someone old enough to be Lionel Broderer’s mother lacked excitement. So I said goodbye to him, finished my ale and followed Lionel across the street to Needlers Lane.