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

by Candace Robb

  A whinny stopped him halfway to the house. It had come from behind the kitchen. Drawing his dagger, Owen crept back to the kitchen, flattened himself against the wall, moved round until he saw the horse. It was tethered to a thick vine that climbed the wall at the back of the property. Alisoun Ffulford’s nag. Owen crossed himself. He began to feel as if the horse haunted him. At least it seemed to be alone here at present. He noticed a bulge in the vine to which the nag was tethered. Parting the vine, Owen whistled at his discovery – a tooled leather saddle and a pouch containing a chess board and chessmen. At last things were adding up. He left the items where he had found them for now.

  As he returned to the house, one of the lay brothers told him that Don Erkenwald had called for Owen to join him.

  Dagger in teeth, Owen climbed the ladder. The stench was worse as he rose. Once up, he crept with care round the brightly painted partition. Erkenwald knelt on the floor holding the hand of a sickly pale man who lay on a blanket, with another covering him, his eyes wide in his bony face as he caught sight of Owen.

  ‘Who is this? I asked for sanctuary.’ His voice had the querulous timbre of the ill.

  Erkenwald patted the man’s hand. ‘Captain Archer is Brother Wulfstan’s friend. It was he brought me here to fulfil the good monk’s vow.’

  The man shrank into himself as Owen moved closer, but he did not take his eyes from Owen’s. ‘The monk is ill?’

  A nod. ‘Pestilence. I pray God for a miracle.’

  ‘God grant him health,’ the man whispered. ‘He saved me.’

  Owen considered the man. A long face, made longer by a tonsure. ‘You are a cleric?’

  The man fought to keep his drooping eyelids open. He was yet weak. ‘I took minor vows. I wish to serve at St Mary’s.’ Owen had to lean close to hear the man’s fading voice.

  Erkenwald met Owen’s eye, raised an eyebrow in question.

  Owen shook his head.

  Erkenwald bent to the sick man. ‘The captain and I have no right to make such a decision. We must take you to St Leonard’s Hospital. But we shall tell them your wish.’

  The man clutched Erkenwald’s habit. ‘No.’

  ‘It is best for you. We can care for you there.’

  ‘Why do you prefer St Mary’s?’ Owen asked. ‘Is it because you stole from St Leonard’s?’

  ‘Trade with me. I know where you can find the woman and child.’

  ‘He has Alisoun Ffulford’s horse out in the yard,’ Owen told Erkenwald. ‘And he has tucked away an ivory chess set and a saddle fit for a king.’

  ‘Has he now?’

  ‘I must ask you some questions, John,’ Owen said. ‘Telling me where they have gone is not enough. I had already guessed they would go to the Ffulford farm.’ He nodded at the flicker of disappointment in the man’s eyes.

  ‘He is very weak,’ Erkenwald said.

  ‘Not so weak he cannot think to bargain. Who is Anneys to you?’

  ‘Swear you will take me to St Mary’s.’

  Erkenwald nodded.

  ‘We journey together. Sometimes a woman is a help to me, sometimes a cleric or a man is a help to her.’

  ‘You thieve together?’

  ‘We live as we can.’

  ‘What does she want with the child?’

  ‘Anneys says she is her grandchild.’

  ‘Do you believe that?’

  ‘Anneys does not lie to me.’

  ‘What do you know of the three corrodians of St Leonard’s who have been murdered?’

  ‘I know nothing.’

  ‘Come now. That chess set has passed time in Walter de Hotter’s garden.’

  The man turned away from them.

  Owen smelled guilt on him. It was enough for now. He did not wish to spend any more effort questioning the man at this time. Rising, Owen shrugged the coil of rope from his shoulder. ‘We can lower him to the men below.’ He handed Erkenwald an end.

  When the lay brothers had John on the stretcher, Erkenwald knelt to him with the rope and trussed him up. He fought, but feebly.

  Owen grinned. ‘A nod is not your word?’

  Erkenwald glanced up as he secured the knot. ‘I was nodding at my thought – once a thief, ever one, eh?’

  The lay brothers looked confused.

  ‘We shall accompany you to the top of Lop Lane,’ Owen said. ‘You will take him to the hospital, explain to Don Cuthbert or whoever needs to know that he is to be guarded. The hospital gaol is the place for him, I have no doubt.’

  ‘And we?’ Erkenwald asked.

  ‘We take shovels, arms, and ride to the farm.’

  On Petergate they met the bailiff Geoffrey. ‘I thought you should hear, Captain. A woman and a girl stole the Riverwoman’s boat.’

  ‘How long ago?’

  Geoffrey looked up at the sun. ‘Long enough to be well away.’ He nodded at the man on the stretcher. ‘Restraining the sick?’

  ‘He may be one of our murderers. And a thief.’

  ‘You have done a good day’s work.’

  ‘It is not over, Geoffrey. Will you escort them to the hospital?’

  ‘That I shall do, Captain. You need not worry that he will be brought there.’

  ‘The men know what to do with him.’

  ‘You are off to catch his partners?’

  ‘Aye. And to return the Riverwoman’s boat, God willing.’

  Twenty-seven

  Painful Truths

  Bess Merchet was sitting with Lucie in the kitchen when Owen rushed through in search of the shovels he had packed.

  ‘You must listen to what Bess has learned,’ Lucie said.

  ‘I must hasten to catch Anneys and the child before they slip through my hands again. Did Jasper return?’

  ‘He did. He is in the shop.’

  ‘Good.’

  Bess jumped up to follow Owen. She would not be brushed aside when she had worked so hard. But she was mindful to be brief.

  Owen sat a moment beside the pack of shovels. ‘You give me much to think about.’

  Bess did not think he was sufficiently impressed. ‘Do you not see? Honoria and Uncle Julian were at odds. Sir Richard’s clerk says my uncle made a new will. Perhaps she thought to murder him before he had the chance.’

  ‘When did Douglas tell you of the will?’

  ‘When he told me of my share.’

  ‘Do you know that Honoria received less in the new will?’

  A pox on his reasoning. ‘No.’

  Owen nodded. ‘I am more intrigued by Julian’s remorse over Adam Carter’s death. It seems more than the thieving bastard was due.’ And with that, Owen rose, threw the pack of shovels over his shoulder, and rushed out.

  ‘That is the last time I assist your husband,’ Bess declared.

  Alisoun paused in her hunt for shovels to watch Anneys, who sat in the doorway of the house alternately wiping her brow and drinking from a jug of well water. What had she done that made her so hot? The day was mild for summer, and Alisoun had done most of the rowing. They would have made more progress by now if the woman had helped more.

  It was mid-afternoon. There might yet be enough light to dig up the treasures, but by then it would be too late to return to York. When Alisoun mentioned this to Anneys, the woman assured her that they had left ample food and drink for Finn.

  ‘But what of us?’

  ‘We can sleep in the house, child. It was good enough for you once.’

  ‘I shall sleep in the barn.’

  ‘Why not the house?’

  ‘It is full of ghosts.’

  Anneys made the sign of the cross and told Alisoun to go find the shovels.

  Lame John and his son Rich lay in the tall meadow grass at the far end of the field watching Alisoun and Anneys work. They had retreated after creeping close and seeing the wealth the two were collecting.

  ‘What devilment is this?’ Lame John muttered. ‘Where did my brother’s child get such things?’

  ‘They brought no
horses,’ Rich said. He wriggled backwards until he could stand behind a tree. His father joined him more slowly.

  ‘A boat, then?’

  ‘Aye, that’s what I’m thinking. And if we see to it, they might stay long enough to explain what they’re about.’

  Lacking customers and unable to keep his mind on his lessons, Jasper shut the shop for a while and went in search of Lucie. He found her up in the solar, kneeling over a small chest, lifting items from it: toys, a child’s gown … He knew that it had been her mother’s chest; in it she kept her memories. Jasper’s mother had had such a chest.

  ‘I have nothing of his in here. Nothing,’ Lucie whispered.

  Jasper knelt beside her. ‘Brother Wulfstan means as much to you as he does to me.’

  Lucie gathered the items she had spread on the floor, placed them back in the chest. ‘I have never known a gentler soul than Wulfstan. I cannot say that I have always been good to him.’ She blotted her eyes on her sleeve.

  ‘I should have asked you to come with me.’

  Lucie hugged herself. ‘I feel frightened. Fearful of what will take the place of such goodness.’

  Jasper did not know how to comfort her. ‘I must return to the shop,’ he said.

  ‘I will come with you.’

  Lame John backed away, shook his head. ‘I cannot.’

  His son lifted his hand over the boat, was about to bring the jagged rock down on the curved prow when his father caught his hand. Rich dropped the rock as he yanked out of his father’s grasp. Lame John lunged for the rock.

  ‘What is this?’ Rich hissed. ‘You have changed your mind?’

  ‘’Tis the Riverwoman’s boat.’

  ‘And what if it is? She was not with them. You think she loaned it to them? Those two?’ Rich spat in the grass.

  ‘I would not be cursed by her.’

  ‘How will she know? ’Tis that changeling, Alisoun, stole it. She damaged it. Who is to say otherwise?’

  ‘The Riverwoman might know otherwise.’

  ‘A midwife? Herb-gatherer?’

  ‘She is more than that.’

  ‘She is a good woman. She would think us in the right. Alisoun is our kin. We must protect her from that woman.’

  Lame John laughed. ‘You want the gold and silver.’

  ‘Did you see it? When are we to see the likes of that again, eh?’

  Lame John handed his son the rock.

  When the prow had been sufficiently splintered, Rich tossed the rock aside, brushed off his hands.

  ‘You’ve taken the skin off your palms. Down to the river with you, wash them off.’

  ‘What then? Do we await them here?’

  ‘Nay. We must see what they are about.’

  Lucie and Jasper found no customers in Davygate, but they opened the shop door in the hope of distraction. Jasper sat on the bench by the window; Crowder climbed up on his lap, and as the lad absent-mindedly stroked the cat, Lucie told him of her first visit to Brother Wulfstan’s garden.

  The trussed man on the stretcher attracted much interest at the hospital – until word spread that he stank of pestilence.

  ‘The gaol? And keep him under guard? But what has he done?’ Don Cuthbert found them puzzling suggestions.

  ‘Captain Archer did not say,’ replied one of the stretcher-bearers.

  Cuthbert tucked his hands up his sleeves, considered the alternatives. He had so far managed to keep the deaths from pestilence quite low by separating the sufferers from the other infirm. The hospital was not crowded, but to place him in a room that might be secured would require inconvenient shuffling.

  ‘The gaol it is, then. Put him far from Mistress Staines.’ In truth, she should be released to the house of the lay sisters, but he was not about to do so without the master’s order. He must tread lightly for a time.

  Twenty-eight

  Rich as the Master

  Alisoun stared into one of the crimson bells of the tall foxglove. Might the plant have grown in this spot after she’d buried the treasures? Had it been long enough since she’d disturbed this earth for a weed to seed itself and grow? Perhaps she had sped its growth by loosening the earth round it. That had been her principal task each spring, to loosen the soil round her mother’s older herbs.

  She did not wish to ask Anneys whether it was possible that the treasure lay below the plant. Alisoun was not yet ready to admit to her that she could not find the last of the treasure. Anneys did not seem patient with failure. They had dug up the trench that Alisoun remembered digging: from the second post in the fence beyond the tree from which she’d fallen when she was small to the old ditch. This plant was growing at the edge of the ditch. Alisoun might have gone that far, though she did not think so. It was a measuring point on the property. She had feared her uncle would notice if it was disturbed. But she had been weary on the evening she had buried the goods. Perhaps she had gone farther than she had intended.

  ‘We have not the time to stare at flowers.’ Anneys’s voice was hoarse with exhaustion, though she had done precious little of the digging. In fact she had stopped after losing her balance and slipping into one of the holes shortly after they had begun. ‘A moment ago you feared we would be interrupted,’ Anneys reminded her.

  It was true. Alisoun had sensed someone watching them, but the feeling had gone away. She had stood very still, trying not to breathe. Only the insects and the birds disturbed the afternoon, and, farther away, the river. Whatever Alisoun had heard, she did not hear it again. Still, she had bent back to her digging with more energy, and in a short while she had retrieved all but the cross.

  Was it under the foxglove? Alisoun pushed herself up from her crouching position, retraced her steps to the spot at which they had begun their dig, crouched over the hole, dug a little beyond, until she reached hard, undisturbed soil. It was indeed the end of the trench.

  ‘Where is the rood?’ Anneys asked from above.

  Alisoun took a deep breath. ‘Under the foxglove … I think.’

  ‘You think? You do not know?’

  Alisoun flinched at the tone, and the foot that tapped impatiently, perhaps even angrily, beside her. ‘It is the only part of the trench we have not tried.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  Alisoun rose, faced her interrogator. The tall woman leaned on her shovel, glaring at Alisoun with dark eyes. Soil smudged her face and made her even more malevolent. ‘Meaning I hope it is there, because if it is not, someone has been here before us.’

  Anneys straightened. ‘Foolish child. That was the most valuable piece.’

  ‘I did not take it.’

  ‘But you let someone else take it.’

  Alisoun ran down to the foxglove, sank down beside it, began to dig with her hands, plunging them into the soil, which was rough with pebbles that stung her with scratches.

  Anneys knelt beside Alisoun, caught her wrists and pulled her hands from the soil, shook her head at the torn fingernails. ‘You have hurt yourself. Let me dig.’

  But Alisoun was not listening. Anneys’s hands were hot and clammy. Alisoun withdrew her left hand, touched the woman’s forehead, then her right cheek. ‘You are sick.’ Her eyes were bloodshot and heavy-lidded. ‘Grandame, you are sick!’

  Anneys pressed Alisoun’s hand. ‘What does it matter? Tomorrow we shall float downriver as rich as the Master of St Leonard’s. Come. Use the shovel. Try this last place.’

  And at last, much to Alisoun’s relief, she found the pearl and silver cross. But by then Anneys’s breath was coming in gasps.

  ‘By Christ’s thorns, these are riches indeed,’ Lame John muttered to his son. ‘I told you we would do well to watch the farm.’ They lay in the tall grass beyond the old ditch, hidden by more foxgloves growing wild in the field, gazing upon the items heaped on the cloth beside the woman and Alisoun.

  ‘Do not rejoice yet,’ Rich said. ‘Listen.’

  Lame John tensed and listened, heard horses approaching. On hands and knees he crept backw
ards into the wood, an awkward, jerking motion with his uneven legs. Rich followed.

  Anneys and Alisoun heard the horses. As one they gathered the corners of the cloth on which they had placed the treasures, pulled them together. Anneys slung them over her shoulder and stumbled. Alisoun put an arm round her and helped her walk beneath the load. Past the barn, the house, through the meadow with its clutching and clinging weeds, and at last to the bank and the boat. Anneys dropped the bundle and sank down beside the boat to catch her breath.

  Alisoun was uneasy. ‘Someone has been here.’

  Anneys wiped her face with a cloth dipped in river water. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘We left the boat on its side. It now sits upside-down.’

  Anneys turned it over, placed the bundle in the prow. ‘Come. Our pursuers are behind us on horseback.’

  Alisoun stood firm. ‘Take out the bundle. We must see whether someone damaged the boat.’

  Paying no heed, Anneys pushed the boat down the bank. ‘Come along or stay behind, ’tis all the same to me.’

  It was not all the same to Alisoun. With misgivings, she joined the woman. ‘Climb in. I will pull you on to the water,’ she said as an offering to win back Anneys’s favour.

  With a satisfied nod, Anneys picked up the oar, climbed into the boat and settled herself in the stern. Alisoun pulled the boat down into the river. At once it began to take on water and list drunkenly. She grabbed the bag of treasures. ‘Jump out,’ she shouted to Anneys.

  Paying her no heed, Anneys clutched an overhanging branch to steady herself as she grabbed for the bundle. ‘Where do you think to go with them? Get into the boat.’

  ‘Can you not see the hole?’ The water gurgled into the prow. ‘For pity’s sake, sit down and I will try to guide you back to the bank before you sink.’