‘And what about the others?’ Cranston asked.
‘Well, they were kind enough. One of them, Chandler, that’s right, he had lecherous eyes and sweaty hands. Edward challenged him to a duel so he left me alone.’
‘Have you been married, mistress?’
‘Oh no, Sir John, spinster of the parish, though I have my admirers. There’s Master Sturmy, he’s a blacksmith, and John Roper, he’s a—’
‘Yes, yes,’ Cranston intervened. ‘Mistress, you heard about the great robbery of the Lombard treasure?’
The change in the woman was remarkable. Her face drained, her lips pursed. She looked at Sir John as if she should dismiss him from her house. ‘My brother was guilty of no crime. Something must have happened.’
‘Of course, mistress.’ Cranston took off his gloves and warmed his fingers over the brazier. ‘But it’s a great mystery, isn’t it? I know a great deal about your brother,’ he continued. ‘I realise he wasn’t a thief.’
Helena’s smile returned to her face, and she offered Sir John a cup of malmsey, which he gratefully accepted.
‘Just tell me your story, mistress.’
‘Twenty years ago,’ she replied in that sing-song voice, ‘around midsummer, we came into London. Edward and Richard were all excited about the great expedition to Outremer. Edward found me lodgings in Candlewick Street. I was left to my own devices, although he and Richard would often visit me on their way down to the Tower.’
‘They often went there?’ Cranston became aware of how quiet the house had fallen; he started at a sound from the passageway.
‘Just mice,’ Helena smiled, ‘and yes, they often went to the Tower.’ She leaned forward. ‘Secret business, Sir John.’
‘Which was?’
‘I don’t know, it was secret.’
‘And Edward never told you?’
‘Oh no, he told me how Richard had fallen in love. I was a little bit jealous and said how lonely I had become, so sometimes they took me to the Tower with them. I was all amazed, Sir John, not even the castles in Wales are like that.’
‘Whom did they meet?’
‘It must have been His Grace, John of Gaunt; both Edward and Richard were closeted with him. I was young and carefree and paid little attention. Edward did his best for me. He said he would buy me this house.’
‘What?’ Cranston almost dropped his cup of malmsey. ‘I thought your brother was poor?’
‘So did I, Sir John. One day he announced he had been given a commission, good gold and silver.’
‘And Richard?’
‘I don’t know, perhaps he was given money too? But, knowing what I do, he probably gave it to his leman, the golden-haired one he often talked about. I chose this house. Poor Jewry is not too wealthy but not too poor. After the Great Plague, prices had fallen. It has five chambers above. I let these out to scholars from the Inns of Court. Edward promised he would bring back a treasure from Outremer, and every quarter I would receive five pounds sterling.’
‘And when did these payments begin?’
‘Well,’ she glanced up at the ceiling, at the small Catherine wheel of candles dangling from its gleaming black chain, ‘Edward’s companions returned to England about two or three years afterwards. I hadn’t heard from my brother, but it was around then that the payments began.’
‘Now look, mistress.’ Cranston put his cup on the floor and grasped her hand. Helena’s smile widened. Cranston felt a deep sadness. This woman truly adored and loved her brother, she could believe no ill of him; for years she had refused to confront the truth. ‘Mistress,’ he repeated, ‘here we have a great mystery. Your brother Edward disappeared, he did not go to Outremer. No one knows where he is, not even you, but four times a year for the last seventeen years you receive five pounds sterling, a goodly amount! Surely you must ask yourself where your brother is? Why doesn’t he visit you? How does he send this money to the goldsmith? He was a landless swordman, what profits did he have?’
Helena blinked furiously, tears welling in her eyes. ‘I don’t know,’ she stammered, ‘Sir John, I don’t really know. This is what I think. His Grace the Regent, although he wasn’t Regent then, also loved Edward and trusted him with the Lombard treasure. I believe something terrible happened on the river that night. Edward and Richard were attacked, perhaps Richard was killed and Edward had to flee, rather than face disgrace. Sir John, he would have been accused of robbery, he could have been hanged! I think he fled, he changed his name, and one day,’ she added hopefully, ‘he will return.’
‘But why not now?’ Cranston demanded.
‘Sometimes, Sir John,’ she pointed to the door, ‘just occasionally, I feel as though I’m being watched. Perhaps Edward knows that, if he was caught here or elsewhere, and I was with him, I could be accused of being his accomplice.’
Cranston sat back in his chair and stared across at the tapestry picture hanging on the wall: Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden under the Tree of Knowledge; a golden black-spotted serpent had wound itself around the trunk and the jaws of its great hydra head parted in a display of sharp teeth and thrusting tongue. I wonder, Cranston reflected, what was the serpent in Edward Mortimer’s life? He accepted the logic of what Helena was saying; to a certain extent it possessed its own truth. But where had Mortimer, a poor knight, managed to secure such money, and was he in hiding, still looking after his sister?
‘James Lundy, the goldsmith, surely you’ve gone to him?’
‘Of course, Sir John, but you know goldsmiths. Master Lundy is a kindly man but still a goldsmith. He will not reveal the secrets of his customers. “I don’t tell people I give you the purse,” he declares, “I don’t tell anybody that I pass it on to you.”
