The Riddle Of St Leonard's: An Owen Archer Mystery 4

by Candace Robb

  ‘I confess I am a long way from doing that, Nate.’

  Bess chuckled into her cup at Owen’s modesty.

  ‘I cannot think what I know that might help,’ Nate said.

  ‘You were with him when he became ill. Who helped you with him?’

  ‘Honoria, though she could not stay. She had other chores. She sent for Anneys when she saw how quickly he was failing. And then we sent for Mistress Merchet.’

  ‘Did Honoria or Anneys give him any physicks?’

  ‘Nay. Well, naught but what he was taking already.’

  Bess interrupted the muddled old man. ‘His headache had gone, Nate. He took no more physick after the first day home.’

  Nate shook his head. ‘He was drinking sommat for quick healing and strength, Mistress Merchet. It smelled most foul. I would not forget such a thing.’

  Owen turned to Bess. ‘You had taken him physicks from the apothecary?’

  Bess stared at Owen as she realised what he was about. ‘I did. But none of them foul-smelling, I am certain of that.’ He believed her uncle had been poisoned. Holy Mary, Mother of God.

  But Owen, with a grim sigh, changed the subject. ‘Your master had money and treasures when he came to St Leonard’s, Nate. Too much to have made it all at the tavern.’

  ‘Aye, that he did. He made a goodly sum outside the tavern, as do many who live on the North Sea. Were a fool otherwise, eh?’

  Bess did not like this turn.

  ‘So he was a smuggler,’ Owen said.

  Nate wrinkled his nose. ‘Now where would he find the time to go to sea? Nay. He waited for the goods to land, the master did.’

  ‘He emptied ships foundered on the rocks?’

  ‘To be sure. Not a soul along the coast did not take advantage of others’ misfortunes, Captain. But among so many the rewards are small. The master and his friends, they thought of something better. Looted the caves of the smugglers, they did. And who could bring them to justice? Thief blaming thief.’ Nate chuckled.

  Bess groaned.

  ‘Dangerous business,’ Owen said.

  ‘Oh, aye. One of their partners paid for it with his life, he did. They did not risk so much after that. And when Master Taverner’s wife and child died at sea …’ Nate shook his head. ‘The master could not be persuaded it was not God’s vengeance. But why would the Lord punish the innocent, is what I want to know?’

  ‘Did your master sire any other children?’

  Nate snorted. ‘Bastards, you mean? Is it bastards you seek? Now, that I cannot say, Captain. He was a man for the ladies, truth be told, even at the end. But I did not ask and he did not say, eh?’ The old man chuckled and shook his head.

  Bess wondered why her uncle had trusted the man.

  ‘What made him choose St Leonard’s?’

  Nate grew serious. ‘In truth, I cannot say. My master had the habit of secrecy, Captain. We travelled round, he spoke with the wardens and masters, and at last chose St Leonard’s. ’Tis all I know.’

  ‘From whom did he steal in Scarborough?’

  ‘The big smuggling families. Ones who would not miss the income, you see. He was honest in his own way.’

  Bess held out her tankard to Tom, who had just settled beside her.

  He grinned as he reached for the pitcher behind him. ‘You are learning much about your Uncle Julian.’

  ‘Stealing from his neighbours. I would not have believed it of him. I don’t know as I do yet.’

  ‘His partner,’ Owen said to Nate, ‘the one who died. What was his name?’

  Nate closed his eyes, pressed a knotty fist to his forehead, whistled through his broken teeth. ‘So long ago. Sometimes they called him “that bastard”. I recall that.’ The old man grinned, wagged his head. ‘They were not always gentlemen.’

  Well, that did not surprise Bess.

  ‘Was Laurence de Warrene involved?’

  ‘You can be sure. ’Twas his idea to do it. Always a clever one, Master Warrene. Mistress Taverner never liked it much. Nor Mistress Warrene.’

  ‘They are all dead now. Who else might remember those times?’ Owen asked.

  Nate stared into his empty tankard. ‘I cannot say as I know which of them might still be alive.’

  Tom refilled the man’s cup. ‘One of his women?’ he suggested. ‘A man oft confides to a woman what he tells no one else.’

  ‘Oh, aye. The master might have done.’ Nate tilted back his head and drank down his ale as quickly as the last.

  ‘He had women here?’

  ‘That he did, I can say. Who they were, I cannot.’

  Owen drained his cup, stood up. ‘I thank you. You will be silent about what we have discussed?’

  ‘Aye, Captain.’

  Bess straightened up as Owen turned his hawk-eye on her. What must he think of her now? To have had a thieving uncle.

  ‘I must search the hospital and go out to the Ffulford farm,’ Owen said. ‘I’ve no time to sift through your uncle’s lemans. Have you the time?’

  Bess’s heart leapt. ‘Are you asking for my help?’

  ‘I have always said you were the one should spy for the archbishop.’

  ‘You do not know how right you are,’ Tom muttered.

  But Bess paid her husband no heed. ‘Would you step without?’ she asked Owen. ‘I have a matter to discuss.’ She led him out into the yard just beyond the kitchen. ‘You believe Uncle Julian was poisoned.’ She could tell by the set to his jaw that he was sorry she had realised his intent. ‘Do you think me an idiot? Do you ask for my help to keep me out of your way?’

  ‘Bess, for pity’s sake. I hoped to spare you the pain until I knew for certain. I do think it likely, but I do not know. And as for your help, I need it. I can trust few people with such business.’

  Well, he looked sincere, he sounded sincere … ‘Lucie thought all along it was poison, eh?’

  ‘She did.’

  ‘You would use me now? After my failure in Easingwold?’

  ‘I regret my words to you.’

  Bess patted his hand. ‘No matter. But I shall help you only if you swear you will keep no more from me.’

  ‘I swear, Bess.’

  He almost choked on the words, but Bess could ask for no less.

  *

  Later in the evening, as Owen helped Lucie hang a new crop of mint sprigs from the rafters of the workroom to dry, she asked whether he had told Bess about the riddle.

  ‘Do you think it important?’

  Lucie handed him a bunch. ‘Does it not fit with his smuggling activities? “If none suffer but the guilty, has a wrong been done?” He stole from the guilty.’

  ‘But what of the first part? “How might one unwittingly commit a sin?”’

  ‘By neglect? I find that part puzzling. But you might tell Bess. Now you have asked her to help, you must tell her what you know.’

  ‘Am I a fool to involve her?’

  ‘You would be a fool not to. Bess would take part whether you wished it or no – you have seen that. Far better to give her tasks than have her surprise you.’ Lucie shook out the basket. ‘Finished. You might have a last ale with Bess tonight. Perhaps she already has a plan.’

  St Helen’s Square was quiet as Owen stepped from the shop. No bells tolled, no mourners knelt by fresh graves in the cemetery. Pray God it meant the pestilence had run its course. He would have his children safely home.

  The York Tavern was not as crowded as in better times, a dozen folk, no more. And they were oddly quiet, watching the door with uneasy eyes as Owen came through. Then they resumed whispering among themselves, shoulders hunched forward towards their tankards.

  The innkeeper stood near the door, his face red and glistening with sweat, his legs firmly planted, muscular arms, bare to the elbow, crossed over his stomach, his eyes wary.

  ‘What’s amiss, Tom?’

  ‘A bit of trouble. Wife’s in kitchen seeing to Simon’s eye.’

  ‘An unwelcome customer?’


  ‘Aye. A stranger with a bad look and smell to him. Sickening, I would say. Sent him to spital.’

  ‘And he blackened Simon’s eye?’ The groom was tall and strong, a good fighter. ‘A sick man with such energy?’

  ‘His friend gave Simon trouble.’ Tom relaxed his stance. ‘They are gone from here. Did you come to drink?’

  ‘I came to talk to Bess.’

  ‘You will need drink, then.’ Tom turned, pulled Owen’s mazer off the shelf, filled it with foamy ale. ‘That should keep you a while. She is in kitchen, as I said.’

  ‘You will call out to me if they return?’

  ‘Oh aye. But my gut tells me they will not be back. ’Tis a queer time when an innkeeper sends a man with coin on his way.’

  ‘No bells tonight. A good sign, I think.’

  ‘Pray God it is so.’

  Simon sat slumped against the wall holding a compress to his eye. Bess invited Owen back into her little room off the kitchen.

  ‘It will be quiet here. I see Tom has already seen you have something to drink.’

  ‘I forgot to tell you something. A riddle your uncle wanted Laurence to keep to himself.’

  ‘A riddle? What good is a riddle if you keep it to yourself?’

  ‘Fortunately, Sir Richard also heard it.’

  ‘Will it help us?’

  Owen drooped over his cup. ‘I cannot think what it means. Lucie thinks it has to do with their smuggling.’ He recited the riddle.

  Pouring herself a small brandywine, Bess held it up to her nose while she considered. ‘“How might one unwittingly commit a sin?” Sounds like clever words to me, showing off. Laurence thought himself a bit of a wit, you know.’

  ‘Ah well. It might come to you.’

  ‘I am off to see Nell, the laundress, in the morning.’

  That brightened Owen’s mood. ‘Lucie said you would already have a plan.’

  *

  Alisoun had made a mistake coming here. No one cared for her. The children were herded like sheep, constantly shushed, as if their voices disturbed the sisters, disturbed God. Why had her mother told her to come here if she ever needed help? Why had she spoken of the spital with affection? Alisoun felt she had been better off in hiding. She had been hungry and lonely, and that would have become worse as winter approached and she had no crops, no livestock – her uncle had taken it all, for safekeeping, he had assured her – but she could practise shooting, watch the birds, sit by the river and listen to the cries of the boatmen, eat when she wished, sleep when she wished, and never be scolded. All her own choices …

  So once again she plotted her escape. She would go by night. It frightened her a little that the watcher might be somewhere in the shadows, but it was worse to lie on her pallet and wait for attack. She had attempted to walk out of the spital in the middle of the day, casually, but the gatekeeper had sent her back – with a promise that he would say naught to Dame Beatrice, a kindness Alisoun had not expected, but still he had sent her back. So the night was her best chance. She had noticed that the gate had a small door with a latch on the inside, but not without, and therefore the gatekeeper might not see the need to lock it. She hoped to sneak through, just barely opening the door, while he was drowsing.

  Alisoun tiptoed through the rows of sleeping children. Lord, how some of them snored. And stank. If she could only reach the blessed night air and get out of this midden where no one wanted her. She yearned for the clean stench of horse sweat. But she would not enjoy that by escaping. She had given the horse to the spital. For safekeeping, they had said. How would she get the nag now?

  She tripped as a voice whispered from the shadows. ‘Who goes there?’ A woman’s voice.

  Alisoun kept walking.

  The woman grabbed her arm. She had a strong grasp. Alisoun could not pull away.

  ‘You would leave the Barnhous?’ the woman asked.

  She must be one of the sisters. She would be satisfied with an untroublesome reply. ‘I must relieve myself.’

  The woman stepped into the moonlight, pulling Alisoun with her. It was the lay sister, Anneys. ‘Ah. Young Alisoun. You mean to escape?’

  Alisoun hesitated. She had made note of the woman, thought her different from the others. Was it possible she might help Alisoun?

  ‘Why would I escape?’

  ‘I have watched you. You are unhappy here.’

  ‘I was wrong to come here,’ Alisoun said. ‘I have kin. This place is for children with no one.’

  ‘You would sneak from the gate with your horse?’

  ‘I must leave him here.’

  ‘I might bring him to you at the Water Gate.’

  ‘Why would you help me?’

  ‘Of what use is it to us to force you to stay?’

  ‘They stopped me when I tried to walk out.’

  ‘Not all of us feel the same.’

  ‘The Water Gate is locked.’

  ‘I have borrowed a key.’

  Anneys offered too much, too readily. Alisoun did not trust her. ‘What do you want from me?’

  ‘Mayhap God gave me a sign to watch over you. Come. We cannot stay here. Someone will hear us.’

  ‘You will go with me?’

  ‘I, too, tire of this place.’

  Twenty-two

  A Sleuth and a Samaritan

  Bess’s day began earlier than usual, and so did Tom’s. She had wakened him to give him instructions regarding the maids, the cook and his assistant, and Simon the groom. ‘I depend on you to see that they complete their work today, Tom. I must go out.’

  Tom rubbed the sleep from his eyes. ‘What do you mean to do – ask every woman in York if she lay with your uncle?’

  What was wrong with him of late? ‘You will see, Tom Merchet. I am not the silly woman you think me.’

  ‘I was teasing, for pity’s sake. I did not mean it.’

  ‘You are not a man enjoys hearing himself chatter, Tom. You think Owen foolish for asking my help. But you will see. And you will have me to answer to if all is not as it should be when I return.’

  ‘I told you I was teasing, and I’ll not say it again.’

  ‘What has been said has been said.’

  ‘Had I known helping Owen would put you in such a mood, I’d have begged him to reconsider.’

  As if he had any say in it. Men thought they ruled the world.

  They broke their fast in silence. Bess then donned her second-best gown and one of her ribboned caps and set off to seek out Nell, a sometime laundress at the hospital. A woman might note much as she scrubbed other’s clothes and bedding. Nell had oft provided Bess with important insights into her neighbours.

  As Bess hurried past the crier, he shouted good news: a day had passed without a plague death in the city. Praise be to God. Mayhap they were safe now. Bess pressed two pennies into the crier’s palm.

  Nell lived off Lop Lane in a tiny wattle and daub house in the shadow of larger buildings that faced the street. Little light meant a scraggly kitchen garden, but it was imperiously guarded by a hen who eyed Bess with distrust and clucked her disapproval of the early morning caller. Bess found Nell round the corner of the house, preparing to lead her cow out of the rear gate.

  ‘Good morning, Nell. Off to the strays?’

  Nell wore a much mended gown and a cap stained by the morning’s milking. The peaceful look on her round, freckled face quickly changed to worry. ‘Bess Merchet? What trouble brings you here so early in the day? I have had my share of trouble.’

  ‘What trouble?’

  The laundress lifted a rough, chapped hand to her opposite shoulder, clutched it as if protecting herself. ‘My son’s baby died the day before yesterday. And now his daughter burns with fever.’

  Sweet Heaven, that was a heavy sorrow. ‘The crier gives us hope, Nell. None died yesterday.’

  ‘I cannot see how that will save my grandchild.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘This pestilence is a curse on my house.’

  Bess wished she ha
d not spoken. Nell had every right to feel the pestilence as a personal curse. She had lost her husband to it in the last outbreak, now one grandchild – two most like. ‘Come. I shall walk with you to the strays.’ The fields where the cow grazed were just without the city walls. Bess could spare the time.

  As they led the cow out into the quiet street, Nell gave a great sigh. ‘Not all are dying. In faith, far fewer than the last two times. But still my family is taken one by one.’ She blotted her eyes on her sleeve, took a deep breath. ‘Forgive me. I have never been one to complain. I do not wish to start now. You have not told me why you sought me betimes.’

  ‘You will have good ale tonight if you help me, Nell.’

  The laundress glanced over the lumbering cow at Bess. ‘I am sorry about your uncle. Is it sommat to do with him? I have not been to spital in a month. I know naught of his death.’ She patted the cow and coaxed her to turn on to Petergate. ‘He was a good man, Master Taverner.’

  ‘Amorous, I am told.’

  A twinkle in the tired eyes. ‘There was talk of that. I envied his women. But he did not fancy me.’

  And no wonder. Nell was a lumbering woman in movement and wit, much like the beast they led. Though she was blessed with an unscarred, unmarred face and most of her teeth. ‘Did my uncle have a leman at the hospital?’ Bess asked.

  ‘There were rumours – one of the servants. Or a lay sister – and what are they but servants who do not know their place?’ Nell sniffed.

  So they were impatient with Nell. Bess might be, too, if forced to work alongside her.

  ‘But most of the gossip was of someone without,’ Nell added.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Some said Felice Mawdeleyn. But I could not swear to it.’

  Well. Her uncle had had an eye for a pretty face, that was for certain. ‘Sly Felice. How did she keep such straying from Will?’

  ‘They do say Will Mawdeleyn lost more than his leg when that horse came down on him.’

  ‘Do they now? Who might know for certain about my uncle’s women?’

  ‘Barker the gatekeeper.’

  ‘You are a good woman, Nell. Come to the tavern when you will. I shall see you feast well.’