The question was asked without any detectable overtones, but Lady Necquer paled slightly, and caught her breath.
"Faith, I suppose we are, lord." She made to move away, but Necquer took hold of her tiny waist and kissed her soundly on the cheek. She snuggled against him, raising one hand absently to his sea-roughened cheek. He smiled at Liam over her shoulder.
"Has Rhenford been regaling you with tales of his journeys, my dear?"
"Boring her, I'm afraid," Liam said with a slight bow.
"Nonsense, Rhenford. You're the most interesting man I've met in a long time, and I'm sure Poppae agrees. Don't you, sweet?"
Lady Necquer nodded eagerly. "I was just asking Sir Liam to tell me more of his travels, lord, but he is a fierce keeper of secrets."
"Well, we'll have to change that, eh, Rhenford? Why not come some night to dinner? You can tell me where to trade next season, and then entertain Poppae. I'm leaving for Warinsford tomorrow, or I'd ask you then, but I'll be back in a few days. You'll dine with us then, eh?"
"Must you leave so soon?" Lady Necquer seemed genuinely upset, but her husband's answer sounded rehearsed, as if they had had the same discussion earlier.
"The snows won't start for another month, and a great deal of what I brought back may spoil, sweet. It must be soon." He kissed her again, and Liam shifted uncomfortably, as though intruding on a private moment.
Lady Necquer returned his kiss absently. "But could not Sir Liam come and entertain me while you are gone? Mayhap just to while away an afternoon?" There was a freight of meaning behind her words, and a plea that Necquer caught, though it flew past Liam.
"Certainly, certainly," Necquer said after a moment's thought. "He shall come tomorrow, then? What do you say, Rhenford? Will you entertain my wife tomorrow afternoon?"
"I ... of course, of course."
Lady Necquer smiled gratefully at her husband, who admonished Liam to remember his appointment, and whisked her away. Liam stood, confused but strangely happy. He had been in Southwark for over four months, but until then he had spoken—spoken for no purpose other than pleasure—with only one other person.
He smiled to himself and shouldered gently through the throng of celebrating workers to find himself a cup of wine. He drank six more before the end of the evening, eating little, talking no more, and watching a great deal.
Necquer's employees enjoyed themselves thoroughly. They shouted and danced the large group dances favored in the south, encouraging each other with whistles and clapping. The three minstrels kept pace, playing louder and more wildly as the evening wore on. Liam looked on, listening to snatches of conversation about the miracle, and watched Lady Necquer. As close as they seemed, something was not right between the merchant and his wife. He recalled a comment he had not understood. A clerk at the buffet had told a companion that there might be more than one reason why Necquer had hurried home, and received a wink and a snicker in return. Liam guessed now that they were referring to a mistress. It might explain the strangeness he had detected in the merchant's manner, but he found it hard to believe anyone would be disloyal to a woman as young and beautiful as Poppae Necquer.
Tall as he was, Liam found it easy to keep track of the diminutive beauty as she moved around her home; and it was easy to catch Necquer watching her too, with slitted eyes and an expression that occasionally grew grim. She seemed aware of it, but not disturbed. It was as if she were waiting to show him something, but could not find it in the crowded room.
Towards the bottom of his seventh cup of wine, Liam realized that the room was stiflingly close, and that the feeling was gone in the tip of his long nose. Recognizing an old sign, he prepared himself to go, looking around for his host. He shoved less gently than before through the crowd towards the back of the house, his misjudgement of the gaps in the milling crowd justifying his decision to leave.
Necquer was not to be found in the rear of the narrow house, though several drunken sailors were taking turns walking the length of the rain-slick balustrade that rimmed the porch, ignoring the long drop to the harbor below. Someone should stop them, Liam thought hazily, but not me. He turned and began threading his unsteady way back through the crowd.
He saw Necquer in the middle of the hall, pressed to one wall by the thick, rowdy crowd. His face was taut and grim, and he was staring across the hall at his wife, who was behind one of the tables that had once been covered with food and now held crumbs and bones. She was staring, pale and unhappy, towards the street door, where a young man stood framed by the lintel. He was brushing rain from long, ash-blond hair, his handsome face swinging to and fro, looking for someone. Necquer followed his wife's gaze, and Liam saw him mouth a curse and begin pushing through the crowd towards the door.
Stung by curiosity, Liam followed after, losing sight of Necquer in the crowd. He did, however, see the young man's eyes suddenly widen, and pushed harder against the crowd when the man spun quickly and dashed out into the rain.
The crowd and his own unsteadiness slowed him, and by the time he reached the door and stepped out into the street, the youth was gone. Necquer stood on the cobbles, his fists bunched by his sides, and Liam almost lurched into him. One fist raised, the merchant spun on him, and lowered his arm reluctantly.
"Rhenford," he said, rain trickling down his face into his beard like tears.
"I thought I should thank you before I left," Liam slurred, wiping rain out of his face with a hand that felt unnaturally hot.
"Rhenford, you're drunk!" Necquer gave a laugh, loud and heartily out of
