St. Peter's Fair by Ellis Peters Page A

had
certainly drunk reasonably deep, but not beyond his measure, nor even up to it.
He was alert at a word.
    “What,
you, brother? Out of bed before Matins?” Amiable though his soft laughter was,
he checked it quickly, sensing something demanding gravity of him. “You were
looking for me? Something worse fell out? Good God, the old man never killed
the fool boy, did he?”
    “Nothing
so dire,” said Cadfael. “But there’s one within here at the gatehouse came
looking for you, with a question. You’ve been about the Foregate and the
fairground all this time?”
    “The
whole round,” said Ivo, his attention sharpening. “I have a new and draughty
manor to furnish in Cheshire. I’m looking for woollens and Flemish tapestries.
Why?”
    “Have
you seen, in your wanderings, Master Thomas of Bristol? At any time since you
left his barge earlier this evening?”
    “I
have not,” said Ivo, wondering, and peered closely “in the strange, soft light
of midsummer, an hour short of midnight.
    “What
is this? The man made it clear—he has practice, which is no marvel!—that his
girl is to be seen only in his presence and with his sanction, and small blame
to him, for she’s gold, with or without his gold. I respected him for it, and I
left. Why? What follows?”
    “Come
and see,” said Cadfael simply, and led the way within.
    The
young man blinked in the sudden light, and opened his eyes wide upon Emma. It was
a question which of them showed the more distracted. The girl rose, reaching
eager hands and then half-withdrawing them. The man sprang forward solicitously
to welcome the clasp.
    “Mistress
Vernold! At this hour? Should you…” He had a grasp of the company and the
urgency by then. “What has happened?” he asked, and looked at Beringar.
    Briskly,
Beringar told him. Cadfael was not greatly surprised to see that Corbière was
relieved rather than dismayed. Here was a young, inexperienced girl, growing
nervous all too easily when she was left alone an hour or so too long,while no doubt her uncle, very travelled and experienced indeed,
and well able to take care of himself, was in no sort of trouble at all, but
merely engaged in a little social indulgence with a colleague, or busy
assessing the goods and worldly state of some of his rivals.
    “Nothing
ill will have happened to him,” said Corbière cheerfully, smiling reassurance
at Emma, who remained, for all that, grave and anxious of eye. And she was no
fool, Cadfael reflected, watching, and knew her uncle better than anyone else
here could claim to know him. “You’ll see, he’ll come home in his own good
time, and be astonished to find you so troubled for him.”
    She
wanted to believe it, but her eyes said she could not be sure. “I hoped he
might have met you again,” she said, “or that at least you might have seen
him.”
    “I
wish it were so,” he said. “It would have been my pleasure to set your mind at
rest. But I have not seen him.”
    “I
think,” said Beringar, “this lies now with me. I have still half a dozen men
here within the walls, we’ll make a search for Master Thomas. In the meantime,
the hour is late, and you should not be wandering in the night. It will be best
if your man here returns to the barge, while you, madam, if you consent, can
very well join my wife, here in the guest-hall. Her maid Constance will make
room for you, and find you whatever you need over the night.” There was no
knowing whether he had noted her uneasiness about returning to the barge, just
as acutely as Cadfael had, or was simply placing her in the nearest safe
charge, and the best; but she brightened so eagerly, and thanked him so
fervently, that there was no mistaking the relief she felt.
    “Come,
then,” he said gently, “I’ll see you safely into Constance’s care, and then you
may leave the searching to us.”
    “And
I,” said Corbière, shrugging enthusiastically into the