The Mistress And The Merchant. Juliet Landon

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      Aphra stood up, frowning in anger. ‘How long ago was this, Father?’

      ‘Just a few moments ago. I called to him, but he clapped his heels to the horse’s belly and trotted away as fast as he could go. It was no good me running after him. Not with my knees.’

      ‘Indeed not, but somebody should. I could go after him myself, in fact.’

      ‘Nay, mistress. Best to let him go. We need a better man than him.’

      ‘That’s not the point,’ Aphra said, peering through the window. ‘If he’s taken anything of mine, I want it back. And I want to know what he’s done with the household accounts. They’re private, Father.’ She headed for the door. ‘Perhaps you’d care to come with me? On horseback, of course.’

      Father Vickery winced as he rose to his feet and gulped down the rest of the ale. ‘Gladly,’ he said, stretching the truth a little.

      His willingness, however, was not put to the test for, as they walked into the cobbled courtyard together, the multiple clatter of hooves reached them from the arched gatehouse where a party of riders appeared led by Signor Datini. Behind him, flanked by two mounted men, rode Master Fletcher with hands bound behind him, followed by two packhorses led by a groom. Looking back on this incident, Aphra could never find adequate words to describe her emotions, especially when her expectations of seeing both Signor Datini and Master Fletcher ever again were nil. Not on that day or any other. Fortunately, it was Father Vickery who found suitable words of welcome, even though he and Santo had not met, until now.

      ‘Well...well,’ he said. ‘Welcome back, Master Fletcher. Word gets round rather quickly in a village of this size, doesn’t it? Well caught, sir,’ he called to Santo. ‘You see what a difference your presence can make? More difference than Ben’s, I’d say,’ he added under his breath. ‘So this is your Italian lawyer, mistress?’ he said to Aphra.

      ‘He’s not...’ Aphra stopped herself. If word of an Italian lawyer had leaked out with the help of Richard Pearce, then why bother to refute it if this was what good it might do? So instead of arguing with him about being here when she’d sent him packing only yesterday, she introduced him to the priest as if everything the latter had said was true.

      ‘You’ll be staying with us for a while, signor?’ said Father Vickery.

      ‘Until Mistress Betterton has no more use for me, Father,’ Santo said as if his invitation had never been in doubt. ‘I took the liberty of changing the direction of our friend here, until we’d had a chance to check on what he’s removed. He insists that everything here belongs to him, but I believe he didn’t include the horses. They are yours, mistress?’ His eyes twinkled mischievously as he saw how she tried to hide her embarrassment and he knew she was not finding the situation easy to accept.

      ‘Master Fletcher knows they are. I am sorry to find he’s a thief, as well as an inefficient steward, but I did not expect him to leave without any kind of explanation. Did you take my ledgers with you?’ she asked him.

      Stumbling down from the saddle, Fletcher stood uneasily with bound hands and the beginning of an angry bruise on his cheek, his expression loaded with guilt. ‘No, mistress,’ he said. ‘I left them in the cottage there.’ His nod indicated the neat little house built into the corner of the courtyard where the stewards of Sandrock had always combined home and office. Stewards were usually educated men with a good grasp of accounting and management skills, though Master Fletcher and his new employer had met only a few times, briefly, and now Aphra blamed herself for not attending to that side of things before it had come to this.

      ‘He’d better be locked in the cellar until we can notify the magistrate,’ Santo said, looking around him. ‘Is that the door, over there?’

      ‘No, wait!’ Aphra said. ‘Master Fletcher and I need to talk about this first. Untie him, take the horses back to the stable and unpack those bags.’

      ‘One of them is mine,’ Santo reminded her.

      ‘I know that, signor. Have it unpacked. Bring Master Fletcher into the house, if you will. You are welcome to come, too, Father. You know the steward’s duties as well as I do. And have the ledgers brought in here. We need to see what’s been going on.’

      ‘Nay, mistress...please!’ Fletcher pleaded, rubbing his wrists. ‘You’ll not like what you see. Give me time...’

      Aphra turned away to the house. ‘I shall not like anything at all until I’ve seen them, shall I? At least I’m giving you the chance to explain yourself instead of running away from the problem. Come in here. Sit down. Have you eaten today?’

      ‘By the smell of him,’ Santo said, ‘he’s already helped himself to your wine. You’re surely not going to feed him, mistress?’ Protectively, he placed himself between her and the steward.

      ‘When he’s answered some of my questions, yes. A half-starved steward will be no good to me, will he? Is there not a Mistress Fletcher somewhere?’

      Fletcher passed a hand over his eyes, pulling his features downwards in one heavy sweep. He was not an unhandsome man, though he was unkempt and showing signs of strain brought on by some deep unhappiness. ‘No,’ he whispered, glancing at the priest. ‘Father Vickery knows...she...’ His voice broke as his features screwed up in pain.

      ‘Last year,’ said the priest, quietly. ‘Died in childbirth. She and the babe. Their first. Only been married two years. Buried here, in the churchyard.’

      ‘Yes, I see,’ Aphra said. ‘Accept my sympathies, Master Fletcher. I take it that’s when you forgot to keep the accounts, is it? Since then?’

      Fascinated, Santo watched as she took control of the situation, sending for porridge, bread, cheese and milk for the man who had just tried to make off with her belongings from the cottage after cheating his way through years of work poorly supervised by her predecessor, Dr Ben. No wonder the thought of an Italian lawyer on the premises had been the last straw. He thought what a remarkable woman she was, more concerned for the man’s genuine distress than for her own inconvenience. He watched the man begin to eat, his table manners perfectly acceptable, although the absence of a wife had clearly had an effect on his personal hygiene. Santo drew Aphra away to one side, leaving the priest and the steward to talk. ‘What do you intend?’ he said. ‘To keep him on? It’s a risk, you know. As your new Italian lawyer, I ought to advise you against it. He was taking your property.’

      ‘As my new Italian lawyer,’ she said with a sideways glare, ‘you lack compassion, signor. As a merchant, you could oblige me by justifying your decision to ignore my request to go away and by going through the accounts with him and Father Vickery. He knows what ought to be included in them, so between the three of you, you should be able to come up with some results. If he has nothing to look forward to, he has no reason to co-operate, does he? If we put him back...’

      ‘You’re going to give him another chance?’

      ‘Of course I am. It’s obviously the loss of his wife and child that’s caused the problem and, anyway, where am I going to get another steward who knows as much about the place as he does? They don’t come two-a-penny, you know.’

      The handsome face widened into a smile, making her heart flutter. ‘I like that. Two for a penny. That means, not easy to find. Yes?’

      ‘Yes. Unlike some Italian merchants who cannot take no for an answer.’

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