St. Peter's Fair by Ellis Peters

back to the barge an hour ago, and was
surprised not to find my uncle back, for he said he left the booth well before
him. We thought perhaps he had met some acquaintance on the way, and stopped to
exchange the news with him, so we waited some while, but still he did not come.
And now I have been back to the booth with Gregory, to see if by some chance he
had turned back there for something, something forgotten, perhaps. But he has
not, and Warin says, as Roger does, that my uncle left first, intending to come
straight home to me, it being so late. He never liked—he does not like,” she
amended, paling, “for me to be alone with the men, without his company.” Her
eyes were steady and clear, but her lip quivered, and there was the faint
suggestion of disquiet even in the unflinching firmness of her regard.
    She
knows she is fair, Cadfael thought, and she’s right to take account of it. It
may even be that one of them—Roger Dod, the most privileged of the three,
perhaps?—has a fancy for her, and she knows that, too, and has no fancy for
him, and whether justly or not, is uneasy about being close to him without her
guardian by.
    “And
you are sure he has not made his way home by some other way,” asked Hugh,
“while you’ve been seeking him at his booth?”
    “We
went back. Roger waited there, for that very case, but no, he has not come. I
asked those still working in the Foregate if they had seen such a man, but I
could get no news. And then I thought that perhaps—“ She turned in appeal to
Cadfael. “The young gentleman who was so kind,this evening—he
is staying here in the guest-hall, so he told us. I wondered if perhaps my
uncle had met him again on his way home, and lingered… And he, at least, knows
his looks, and could tell me if he has seen him. But he is not yet back, they
tell me.”
    “He
left the jetty earlier than your uncle, then?” asked Cadfael. The young man had
looked very well settled to spend a pleasant hour or two in the lady’s company,
but perhaps her formidable uncle had ways of conveying, even to lords of
respectable honours, that his niece was to be approached only when he was
present to watch over her.
    Emma
flushed, but without averting her eyes; eyes which were seen to be thoughtful,
resolute and intelligent, for all her milk-and-roses baby-face. “Very soon
after you, brother. He was at all points correct and kind. I thought to come
and ask for him, as someone on whom I could rely.”
    “I’ll
ask the porter to keep a watch for him,” offered Cadfael, “and have him step in
here when he returns. Even the horse-fair should be on its way to bed by now,
and he’ll be needing his own sleep if he’s to hunt the best bargains tomorrow,
which is what I take it he’s here for. What do you say, Hugh?”
    “A
good thought,” said Hugh. “Do it, and we’ll make provision to look for Master
Thomas, though I trust all’s well with him, for all this delay. The eve of a
fair,” he said, smiling reassurance at the girl, “and there are contacts to be
made, customers already looking over the ground… A man can forget about his
sleep with his mind on business.”
    Brother
Cadfael heard her sigh: “Oh, yes!” with genuine hope and gratitude, as he went
to bid the porter intercept Ivo Corbière when he came in. His errand could
hardly have been better timed, for the man himself appeared in the gateway. The
main gate was already closed, only the wicket stood open, and the dip of the
gold head stepping through caught the light from the torch overhead, and burned
like a minor sun. Bare-headed, with his cotte slung on one shoulder in the warm
last night of July, Ivo Corbière strolled towards his bed almost rebelliously,
with a reserve of energy still unspent. The snowy linen shirt glowed in the
lambent dark with a ghostly whiteness. He was whistling a street tune, more
likelyParisian than out of London, by the cadence of it. He