Chapter 16 #4
She couldn't help smiling. She'd done it! Wait until Raoul heard about this! After a little while, however, in the anonymity of a crowded, clamorous market, Aline had to admit she was lost.
Never imagining a city as huge and crowded as London, she'd thought that if she wandered a little, she would soon come across Hugo's house.
She had walked up and down a score of streets, however, and seen nothing she recognized at all.
She wasn't sure what kind of search would be made for her, but she had been confined at St. Hilda's by order of the king.
Perhaps the whole city was even now being put on the alert.
She could imagine criers appearing in the street, bellowing, "Seek out a maid of eighteen years, one with blue eyes and fair hair under a plain white veil.
Her plump body is covered in a cream-colored kirtle and a red and brown over-tunic, finely worked.
She is a fugitive of the king's. Detain her with all necessary force! "
She looked around, but no one was staring at her yet. In fact, it being close to the end of the day, everyone seemed intent on their own business, and in a hurry to be home.
Customers were making last-minute purchases, and vendors were beginning to pack away their wares. She doubted they'd notice her if she were stark naked.
That gave her an idea. Stepping into a quiet corner, she pulled off her richly woven tunic and bundled it up in her plain veil. Then she tied her girdle around her simple kirtle. With uncovered head and simple gown she wouldn't look so out of place. Nor would she so obviously fit any description.
What next, though? It was ridiculous, but she couldn't remember the name of the street on which Hugo had his home and business. In smaller northern towns, even in York, to ask for the house of Hugo and Mary, the vintners, would surely gain her directions, but in London? She doubted it.
Moreover, there were so many sly-seeming people here, so many rogues and ruffians, she hesitated to announce to the world that she was a lost stranger.
She let the press of the crowd move her past the stalls, remembering Waltham and the tinsmith's cart. If only Raoul would appear out of nowhere to help her.
Appear out of nowhere to kiss her?
That kiss, those feelings, and her rejection of his offer of marriage all troubled her mightily, but now was not the time to dwell on them. Instead, she sent a short, fierce petition for help up to Christ's mother.
Like an answer, the words popped into her brain. Corser Street.
Her knees almost gave way in relief. Sending a fervent prayer of thanks, Aline worked her way over to a pleasant-seeming women loading jars of honey and baskets of honey cakes into a little wagon.
"If you would be so kind, mistress, could you tell me the way to Corser Street?"
"Lost, love?" asked the woman. "Not surprising, the crazy way everything is these days. I'll be glad when it all settles back down again, even though it'll be bad for business. Corser Street?" She turned and called to the black-pudding seller next to her. "Davy! Corser Street Where is it?"
The man never stopped packing away his remaining sausages. "Over near Fetters Lane. Down near the river."
The honey woman turned back. "Well, love, you're aways from home, and that's the truth.
But you follow this road to Cooper's Lane.
Turn left there and it'll take you to the river.
Corser Street's in that direction. You'll find it.
" She picked up a small honey cake and pressed it into Aline's hand.
"Here, love. It'll keep up your strength. "
Aline could willingly have hugged the woman for caring, but she just thanked her and hurried on. Or, rather, she would have hurried if the crowd had permitted it. As it was, she had to go with the flow of people, squeezed and buffeted by those trying to hurry anyway.
There were doubtless quieter streets nearby, but she was afraid of losing her way, and anyway, she was well hidden in such a crowd. To be even less conspicuous, she made herself stroll along and nibbled on the honey cake.
She wondered why Jehanne felt she must be at the hearing, but knew that if her cousin was convinced she had something of import to tell the king, she was probably right. Jehanne was formidably clever.
Jehanne was probably also right in thinking that Galeran would stop her from appearing before the king if he could. This gave Aline some problems. Galeran was also formidably clever. If he thought it best that Jehanne not appear he might be right.
So, should she go to Galeran and explain the situation, and leave it in his hands? Or should she go to Raoul and hope he'd help get Jehanne out of the convent tomorrow morning?
And how was that to be done?
Aline saw the words Coopers Lane on a wall ahead, illustrated by a stack of barrels. She brushed the cake crumbs off her hands and worked through the crowd so she was ready to turn off when the street appeared.
The change was so abrupt that it felt as if Coopers Lane were deserted, whereas in fact it was reasonably busy.
It was clear, however, that few used it as a thoroughfare, perhaps because of the stacks of barrels standing outside each house.
The people here were either the coopers and their apprentices and families, or purposeful businessmen inspecting products and placing orders.
Casks.
Wine.
The coopers surely knew all the vintners.
When one middle-aged man came out to roll a barrel back into his workshop, Aline spoke to him. "Excuse me, sir, but do you know the vintner Hugo who lives on Corser Street?"
The man straightened and looked her up and down. But then he winked and smiled. "And if I do, pretty maid?"
Aline's instinct was to shrink away, but she knew he was just teasing, so she made herself smile back. "I'm a new maid there, sir, and I've lost my way. Can you tell me how to get back?"
"From the country, I reckon," he said, eyes bright with curiosity. "From the north, I'd say."
She could have screamed with impatience, but he was clearly proud of his deduction. "How did you guess that?" she asked admiringly. "Yes, sir, I come from near Durham."
"A long way from home, and not surprising you're a mite lost. Right then." He touched her arm, but only to turn her to look down the street. "Go on down here until you come to that house that hangs out over the street. The one with the red trimming. See it?"
"Yes."
"There's a ginnel running between the houses there. Follow it through and you'll be in Ironmonger's Lane. There's another cut-through almost opposite. Take that and you'll be in St. Marie's Road. Left there a bit and you'll find Corser Street. You got that?"
"Yes," said Aline. "But why can't I go straight down here and turn right?"
"You're a canny one, aren't you?" he said admiringly. "This goes down to the wharves, sweetling. I'd not send a pretty girl like you down there. You go the way I've told you."
"Thank you," she said sincerely. "Thank you very much."
He patted her arm. "Off you go, then."
Aline waved and skirted barrels down to the narrow passageway between the houses. As the cooper had said, it led to the ironmongers with their forges and clanging hammers, then into a wider street with varied merchants and inns.
"Left," she muttered to herself as she turned, already scanning the side streets for the one she sought. If only anything were familiar. But how could it be since she'd not ventured out of the house other than to be brought to St. Hilda's?
After a while she stopped and looked backward, wondering if she might have been wrong. Should she have turned right...?
"Aline?"