by Candace Robb
Owen grinned. ‘Mistress Perrers has a taste for power.’
Ravenser did not smile. ‘And Lancaster a taste for beautiful women. I think it unlikely he would bed Perrers.’
‘But His Grace thinks it possible?’ Owen did. He thought there were few women in the kingdom who wove a more attractive web than Alice Perrers.
‘He thinks it possible indeed. And he is furious. He hoped to enlist the duke’s aid in ridding court of Perrers …’
‘I should think that with Death reaching out for the Queen, the King would depend on Mistress Perrers more than ever.’
Ravenser massaged his temples. ‘God might do better purging court than purging the city of York. Such petty jealousies.’
So he did not approve of Thoresby’s interest in the matter. Owen thought it time to return to the matter at hand. ‘How many know that I am assisting you in this?’
‘Don Cuthbert, the cellarer. Have you been introduced?’
‘We have met.’
Ravenser winced. ‘He is a good man, I assure you, and he has agreed to assist you in any way you request. Within the rule of the hospital, of course.’
‘Of course.’
‘Don Erkenwald also knows. In fact it was he who alerted me to the problems.’
‘He is a good man. So they are the only ones who know my purpose here?’
A sigh. ‘And without the hospital, Mistress Merchet. I thought to reassure her that I did not disregard her uncle’s claim that he was poisoned.’
‘An appropriate gesture. Just the three, yourself and me, then?’
‘Yes. And I should prefer to keep it from the others.’
Was the man a simpleton? ‘I do not see how, Sir Richard. They will notice that I am about. Secrecy will make my task doubly hard.’ He could see that Ravenser did not consider it his problem but Owen’s. In that he was like his uncle.
‘Perhaps if you spoke only of the thefts,’ Ravenser suggested.
‘And when I ask whether anyone remembers anything out of joint the day of the fire? Or whether Walter de Hotter argued with someone?’
Ravenser drummed his fingers on the arms of the chair as he considered that. ‘Might we invent more thefts? Something missing from Laurence de Warrene’s house? And something from Hotter’s?’
‘I do not advise a lie. Besides, there is the matter of Warrene’s house being so thoroughly burned.’
Ravenser flushed, but attempted to hide his embarrassment with a brusque tone. ‘I understand you spoke to Mistress Staines.’
Owen had wondered why Ravenser did not mention her. ‘I did. And I am curious. Why confine her at night, but let her go about freely during the day?’
‘I thought we might learn something by watching her – where she goes, to whom she speaks.’
‘And if she is dangerous?’
‘She cannot leave the hospital.’
‘Some have died within St Leonard’s, Sir Richard.’
A sharp intake of breath. ‘I am aware of that, Captain. But neither you nor I believe Mistress Staines is a murderer, do we? She covets her neighbours’ riches. How does she explain the goblets?’
‘She says Julian Taverner presented them to her at her wedding four years ago. But he was dead before I could ask him whether she spoke the truth.’
‘Why would she hide them if they were hers?’
‘She says she heard about the missing goblets and feared she would not be believed. Dame Constance, for one, thinks Mistress Staines quite cunning.’
‘What do you think?’
‘Have you learned aught by watching her movements these past days?’
‘As far as I know, no. Would you have me release her?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Ah.’ Ravenser nodded. ‘Good. As I said, I shall retreat into the shadows and allow you to proceed as you see fit. But I pray you, resolve this quickly and with as little information reaching the city as possible, or St Leonard’s reputation may be destroyed. And without the goodwill of the people …’
‘I have not yet begun and you are urging me to finish, Sir Richard? Then I ask you to pray for me.’
‘I express myself awkwardly. But I think it advisable to be frank with you. It is an honour to be master of this hospital. Are you aware that it is the largest such institution in this realm outside London?’
‘I have heard that claim.’
Ravenser drew himself up. ‘It is not an idle claim. It is true. And to be the master of such a hospital, which gives solace to the ill, the elderly, the abandoned … I doubt that I need tell you that it lends a man a certain respectability. But where there is much to gain there is also much to lose. Were the hospital to fail …’ Ravenser turned to the window and allowed silence to emphasise his last words.
Owen considered the man, trying to decide why he wished it were Thoresby sitting in that chair, not Ravenser. Perhaps it was because he sensed a secretiveness in Ravenser with which Thoresby did not bother. Even with his blunt acknowledgement of his ambitious motive in saving the hospital, the man still hid much.
He also exaggerated.
‘Why should the hospital fail because of the thefts and, related or not, the odd deaths of several corrodians, Sir Richard?’
Ravenser reached for his cup of wine, sipped while studying Owen over the rim. A trick of his uncle’s. Had he studied his uncle’s techniques? ‘Debt, Captain. And debt requires donors. I had been promised the receipts from the Lammas Fair this summer, but alas …’ Ravenser set the cup down, leaned forward. ‘Don Cuthbert has insulted the goldsmiths, a guild from whom I might have hoped for generous gifts; rumours are rampant in the city, which destroys my chances with other wealthy citizens; the late mayor and I quarrelled and the present mayor seems to know something of it. If this continues, we shall be ruined. It is that simple.’
‘What of the possibility that there is a murderer in your midst? Does that not worry you at all?’
Journeys were seldom direct for the Riverwoman. Folk passing would mention a sick friend, a peculiar plant growing in the wood or on the riverbank, an animal lying injured on a track, and she would reorganise her day. Those awaiting her call knew not to expect her at a particular time, but they also knew that she would come, even if it were long after sunset. It was said she had better night vision than a cat.
It was mid-afternoon before Magda led the nag up the track to the Ffulford farm. She had no reason to expect the child to be there except that it felt right. Time enough to move on to Alisoun’s kin if the farm was deserted. Magda tethered the nag to a branch out of sight of the barn, a nice grassy spot to entice her into quietly grazing. Then the midwife moved up the track on foot.
All was still. But someone watched her, she was certain. As she meandered round the yard, checking sheds and circling the barn and the house, she glanced at the area from which she sensed the eyes. A dark shadow against the trunk of an oak satisfied her. The child hid in the tree, observing Magda’s exploration. It was not a tree from which Alisoun might glimpse the horse.
On her next circuit, Magda entered the house, checked that the child yet had food, admired Alisoun’s cleverness. She came for the food stored within, but walked in the shadows so that the floor looked dusty, the house uninhabited.
Outside, Magda made her way to the barn, struggled with the door, opening it wide. Inside, she examined the hay, thought to pull some fresh hay down for the nag, but, remembering the child’s defence of the loft, changed her mind. The child might be clever enough to fashion a trap. Magda had no time for that.
Satisfied that the child was present, and well enough to feed herself and keep her wits about her, Magda retrieved the nag, led her into her stall in the barn. Emerging into the bright sunshine, Magda sighed. It had been pleasant, having a mount for a day. But the gods had given her feet for a purpose.
Beneath the child’s tree, Magda paused, shading her eyes against the sun as she peered up into the branches. A dirty foot confirmed her suspicions. ‘Magda h
as returned thy property. Thou shouldst not be so generous, child, to loan a stranger thy horse, be he wounded or no. Magda lives beneath the dragon ship upriver from York. Thou canst find her there.’
Her mission accomplished, Magda took her way home.
Owen held the dark red knight in his palm, felt its heft. ‘Fine ivory. Heavy. How would a set of such pieces be removed without the servants noting it, I wonder? Where was the set kept?’
Ravenser had retired to his room with a headache. Douglas had been offered as a guide. The plump clerk indicated a trunk on the opposite side of the room, near the window. ‘On that trunk, but the side farthest from the window.’
‘I was not thinking the thief reached in for it. Standing so at a window, reaching in for each piece, a man would be noticed.’
Douglas ducked his head. ‘Of course.’
Owen had not meant to embarrass the man. He liked Douglas. The man had so far dealt with him without guile. ‘Be thankful you have no need to think of such things.’
‘To be observant is a skill one might use for many tasks.’
‘Where were the candlesticks?’
‘By the door,’ Douglas said, pointing towards a shelf conveniently placed for one entering the room to set down or pick up a light.
‘Can you show me from where the other items were taken?’
‘Some of them. A few the cellarer will need to show you. The blankets, for example. But I can show you where items disappeared from in the church.’
Vespers over, Don Cuthbert headed to his garden. That morning he had encountered two black rats on the path, their snouts twitching with delight over an early apple, a bruised windfall that should have been found long before it rotted and attracted the noxious creatures. Cuthbert had ordered a servant to search for any more rotting fruit hidden beneath the foliage in the vegetable bed. As he approached, he noted a dark-gowned figure hurrying away from him and bristled with indignation. Did she think to escape his inspection? No doubt she had idled away the afternoon. He strode into the garden, fists clenched, ready to give battle.
But it was the lay sister Anneys who turned as he called out. She clutched a dark bundle and looked ill at ease. As she should. Lay sisters were not invited to walk in this garden.
‘Benedicte, Don Cuthbert.’
‘Benedicte. Might I ask what errand brings you into the cellarer’s garden?’
She held her burden out to him. It was a leather pouch. ‘I noticed this as I walked past. Lying in the path. I thought someone had dropped it, but then I discovered no one about.’
Cuthbert held out his hands. ‘I shall take it. Now if you would—’
Anneys withdrew the offering and took a step backwards. ‘It is naught that might be of use to you.’
‘You opened it?’
A smile meant to disarm. ‘For a good cause, I assure you. I thought to discover to whom I should return it.’
‘And who is that?’
‘It contains medicines and bandages. Perhaps Master Saurian the physician dropped it.’
‘Master Saurian fled the city at the first sign of pestilence, as you know. But in truth, were he here he would have no more business in my garden than you do.’
At last Cuthbert detected some discomfort. Anneys lifted her shoulders in a gesture of defeat. ‘Someone in the infirmary?’
‘I have no time for childish guessing games.’ Cuthbert straightened to his full height, but the damnable woman still towered a head above him. No matter. He had the authority. He held out his hand. ‘I will have it. And you will return to your duties.’
‘But—’
‘I will suffer no arguments.’
The woman dropped the bag in his hands and hurried away.
Medicines, she had said. Cuthbert had seen Captain Archer following the master’s clerk across the yard earlier. Might he have misplaced this while he snooped in the garden? It tickled Cuthbert to think of the one-eyed spy searching for his pouch. It was wrong of the master to engage an outsider. The man had no right to be here, no right to question the canons and nuns. Or the lay brothers and sisters. So. His pouch. Cuthbert thought he might put it safely away and then forget about it.
Sixteen
Unsavoury Characters
Brother Wulfstan awoke confused. Had he moved his cot? The window should be above his head, not across the room. And so far across. His cell was not so long. He closed his eyes, felt his head. Often when he burned with fever he felt as if he were shrinking or the room expanding. He remembered that feeling from childhood. So long ago. Why could he remember that, but not whether he had moved his cot? But of two things he was certain. He had no fever, and his window was in the wrong place.
‘Brother Wulfstan?’ a low, gentle voice. Female. ‘Brother Wulfstan, are you awake?’
He opened his eyes. Lucie Wilton leaned over him, her eyes dark with worry.
‘Why has my window moved?’ he asked.
Lucie frowned, obviously finding it puzzling, too.
‘I knew it was not right,’ Wulfstan said.
Lucie pressed his hand. ‘You are in the workroom of the apothecary. Remember? You fell in the street.’
Fell in the street? He remembered no— Ah. The stranger. He flexed his hand, felt the scraped flesh already tightening. ‘Yes. I caught the fall with my hand.’
Lucie nodded. ‘And cut your cheek.’
His right knee burned, too. ‘He wanted my medicines.’
Lucie frowned. ‘He?’
‘The stranger.’
She glanced round to someone behind her.
Jasper stepped forward. ‘Shall I help you sit up?’
‘Bless you, my son. I would like that.’
The lad was strong, which was good, for Wulfstan found it was difficult for him to bend in the middle without much groaning, which would worry Lucie. He must have bruised half his body in his fall. When Jasper let him down he rejoiced in the plump cushions stacked behind him. Sinfully comfortable.
Lucie sat in a chair beside him, holding a bowl of fragrant broth. ‘Shall I help you?’
An undignified way to eat, but far less embarrassing than spilling it over himself. The nourishment cleared away the cobwebs.
‘You were attacked?’
Had he told her? Perhaps. Henry told him he often muttered in his sleep. ‘The stranger did not mean to attack me. I asked too many questions.’
‘God help us if that is now the accepted response to curiosity.’ Lucie poured a cup of watered wine, handed it to Wulfstan.
He was pleased to discover his hand was much steadier. As steady as it ever was at his age. Seeing the determined set to Lucie’s strong jaw, Wulfstan launched into a full account of the incident. Soon his knee was covered with a soothing ointment and bandaged. And just in time. Simon, the Merchets’ groom, waited without with a donkey cart to take Wulfstan home.
‘I do not need that,’ Wulfstan protested. How would he explain it without alarming Brother Henry and Abbot Campian?
‘He will take you to St Mary’s postern gate,’ Lucie said. ‘I shall not treat you like a child. But I urge you to take a companion when you next go out into the city, my friend.’
‘I do not believe he meant to harm me.’
‘But he did harm you.’
‘I shall pray over it.’
At the door Wulfstan had another disturbing surprise. Magda Digby, the heathen midwife, stood in the entry. Wulfstan knew that Lucie and Owen often worked with Mistress Digby and respected her. But a man of the cloth could not condone her pagan ways. Still, they did say she shared his work in ministering to the victims of the pestilence.
‘Thou tookst a fall, Infirmarian?’
‘I did, Mistress Digby.’
Lucie told Magda of Brother Wulfstan’s accident.
‘Wounded. Clerk’s robe. Smelling of horse, thou saidst?’ the old woman nodded thoughtfully.
Her eyes were sharp, her posture quite upright for her age. Wulfstan had to admire her. From all acc
ounts she was older than he by far. ‘I must not keep the donkey cart waiting.’
But Lucie was watching Magda with interest. ‘This man has crossed your path?’
‘Not in the flesh, but Magda has heard of him. What didst thou have in thy bag?’
‘Vinegar, clean cloths, a sweating tisane, a softening poultice, a knife to lance the blisters,’ Wulfstan frowned. What else? ‘Holy oil, holy water, a crucifix …’ He shook his head. ‘I cannot recall all of it.’
‘A heavy burden, Infirmarian,’ Magda said. ‘Hast thou no assistant?’
‘I want none.’
The old woman pulled a pouch from her voluminous robes, took out a small bottle. ‘A tonic for old bones, Infirmarian. Thou must keep up thy strength for the work ahead of thee.’
Wulfstan hesitated. Her remedies were said to be comforting; but did she say pagan charms over them?
‘It contains naught harmful to thy Christian soul,’ Magda said.
Wulfstan pressed his hands together and bowed towards her. ‘Forgive me.’ He reached for the offering. ‘God bless you, Mistress Digby.’ Surely God would forgive him.
As Owen knelt in the infirmary chapel, gathering his thoughts and praying for guidance, footsteps approached from behind, paused, and retreated in haste. A reaction to his presence that Owen found interesting. He slipped into the shadows and followed the footsteps down into the undercroft of the chapel. But instead of entering the room in which the children were at supper, the footsteps went out of the undercroft door. The early evening sun did not reach the walled yard, but there was enough light for Owen to recognise Don Cuthbert carrying a bundle the size of a blanket. Owen watched with interest as the cellarer disappeared into a storage shed built against the far wall. He emerged empty-handed. The behaviour of a thief?
Owen had planned to meet with Cuthbert on the morrow, but the circumstances changed that. He was about to step from the undercroft door when someone came up behind him.
‘Captain Archer?’
Owen spun round.
‘Benedicte, Captain.’ The quiet voice belonged to the lay sister Anneys. She must have been one of the women sitting with the children.
