The House of Shadows

this mystery, the more perplexed he became. Perhaps he should have brought Athelstan here.
    ‘Did your brother,’ he made one last try, ‘say anything, mistress? Something you have reflected on over the years, which could provide some clue as to what happened?’
    Helena closed her eyes, face tight with concentration. ‘Just one thing.’ She opened her eyes. ‘He told me I would never starve, and that perhaps, one day, I would be a great lady.’
    ‘And that’s what you are.’
    Cranston drained the cup and got to his feet. He grasped Helena’s hands and kissed her fingertips, made his farewells and left. He was in the passageway smelling so sweetly of rosemary and rue when Helena came tripping behind him.
    ‘Sir John,’ she called breathlessly. ‘You have been so gracious. There is one other matter.’
    She asked him to stay whilst she went upstairs and brought down a small coffer with artificial jewels studded in the casing. She opened this and took out a gold cross on a silver chain.
    ‘This was my mother’s.’
    ‘Very beautiful,’ Cranston agreed. ‘But what significance does it have?’
    ‘On the day before Edward disappeared, he came to see me, looking rather pale and agitated, which was unusual. I asked him what the matter was but he wouldn’t tell me. Now I know. Edward always wore this round his neck. He asked me to keep it safe but said that before he sailed for Outremer he would collect it again. Now isn’t that strange, Sir John? Why didn’t he wear it that night?’
    ‘Perhaps he was afraid of losing it.’
    ‘But the same could have happened on board ship or in the savage fighting before Alexandria . He always wore it.’
    ‘Mistress, I truly do not know.’
    ‘Now you must think I’m feckless,’ Helena continued, ‘that I live in a fool’s paradise. I won’t accept that my brother has died. The truth is, Sir John, as regards Edward I live in a fog of mystery. If he’s alive, why doesn’t he come and collect the cross, never mind see his beloved sister? Yet if he’s dead, who is sending me that money?’
    ‘I can’t answer that,’ Cranston replied, ‘but I do have one final question for you. After your brother’s disappearance, did anyone visit you?’
    ‘Oh, John of Gaunt came to see me. He brought me gifts, he said if I was ever in distress I was to write to him.’
    ‘Anyone else? Such as the knights, Culpepper’s comrades?’
    Helena shook her head. ‘Only one, Richard’s brother, Malachi the Benedictine. After the English fleet returned he often visited me for a while, asking questions, but I didn’t tell him anything. He was so cold-eyed.’
    ‘What sort of questions did he ask you?’ Cranston asked.
    ‘Oh, the same as you.’ She pointed behind her. ‘He sat in the chamber fingering his beads. One thing he did say was had I ever truly searched for my brother? I told him a little of what I had done, how I had written to friends in Wales . I even wrote to Sir Maurice Clinton, but he never replied. Then he said a strange thing. Had I thought of hiring a man-hunter?’
    ‘Pardon?’
    ‘A man-hunter. You know, Sir John, often former soldiers, they hunt down criminals. I replied no.’
    ‘Did he now?’ Cranston smiled. ‘Mistress, I thank you!’
    Cranston strode out of the house and left Poor Jewry, turning left into Aldgate, down past Leadenhall, the Tun and into Cornhill. He was so engrossed in his own thoughts that even the range of villains fastened in the Great Stocks opposite Walbrook failed to attract his attention with their raucous shouts and cries. Passers-by looked at him curiously as the large coroner, a well-known sight along this broad thoroughfare, seemed oblivious to their greetings and shouted questions. Cranston strode along the Mercery, thumbs pushed into his large war belt, only standing aside when the Cart of Shame, full of criminals bound for the stocks, forced him into a doorway. The late morning’s cargo was a bevy of prostitutes caught soliciting outside their marked corner around Cock Lane . They all knew Sir John of old, and made rude jokes or gestured obscenely at him. This time they were disappointed. Cranston did not react but stared back stonily. He leaned against a door post and gazed across at the various stalls under their coloured awnings. This part of the market sold leather goods, pots and pans and finely textured tapestries from abroad. As he watched the swirl of colour, even the appearance of a famous