The Guilt of Innocents (Owen Archer Book 9)

by Candace Robb

  ‘Like Sultan, she was exciting. I’d loved her for a long time, and I finally took her. She was mischievous, daring, and she made me feel a little wild. I didn’t know myself sometimes, never knew what to expect when I was with her. But I loved my wife, deeply loved her, and I knew I must put Ysenda aside. I knew Aubrey lusted after her, so I asked him to wed her, telling him about the child she thought she was carrying. That’s my great regret, Captain, that I did not recognise Hubert. He is everything Osmund is not.’

  ‘What about Osmund’s part in all that has happened?’ asked Owen. ‘For example, what do you think this might be?’

  Baldwin, stepping away from the horse, looked at the box in Owen’s hands. ‘This is something you found in his chamber?’

  ‘Among other things.’ Owen opened the box and held it out. ‘They might be physicks, but they might be poisons.’ He looked up at Baldwin’s face, saw not anger at such a statement, but fear.

  ‘Poison?’ he said softly.

  ‘The reason I suspect poisons is that we also found a hat that matches what a possible witness described, and papers indicating that Osmund has a considerable trading interest to protect. All of that added to how often his name has arisen … Let me ask you, Sir Baldwin – what do you think?’

  Baldwin closed the lid on the box and dropped his hands as if in defeat. ‘I do not know where I erred in the raising of my son. His mother worried about what she called his godlessness, a lack of fear of God’s wrath. She also thought him too proud of his cleverness. I did not at first agree with her, but I gradually came to see that she was right. Without ever speaking of it we made a pact of secrecy, hoping that he would change and so we did not wish to have irreparably sullied his name. You ask what part I think he might have played in the deaths of the two men.’ Baldwin had moved back to the horse, and pressed his forehead to the animal’s head for a moment. ‘If he believes I’ll disinherit him, he’ll do what he can to gather wealth – indeed, you have found evidence that he has done so. He has costly tastes.’

  ‘He would take lives?’ Owen pressed.

  ‘I pray he would not.’ Baldwin moved away as the horse grew restive, sensing his discomfort. ‘But there have been times when I’ve feared what I saw in him. I once asked Father Nicholas about the difference between a sinful man and an evil man. I told him that I saw evil as a darkness so much a part of someone that prayer and the sacraments could not reach it, could not rescue the person, but that a sinful person could be saved.’ He made a strangled sound and walked to the doorway, breathing deeply. In a moment he returned to Owen. He shook his head. ‘I’ve not told Janet this, though I should, I should. Father Nicholas knew I was speaking of my son. He knew. I have prayed over that moment of terrible doubt, Captain. That I even entertained such a thought about flesh of my flesh.’

  ‘Yet you allow him to live separately here, come and go as he likes.’

  Baldwin sighed. ‘He is of age, Captain. When his mother died I lost my patience – or perhaps my faith. I gave up on him. But now I wonder whether I irresponsibly unleashed him to prey on innocent people. I pray I am wrong.’

  Owen looked out at the gathering storm, wondering whether he’d be able to ride home on the morrow. He feared that Osmund had gone to York. He realised he’d already condemned him without ever having met him. But with the apparent evidence and such a confession from his father, he felt justified in believing Osmund guilty.

  Twelve

  A LENGTH OF SILK

  The snow that had been threatening all afternoon with huge, heavy clouds and a cold wind that sent debris skittering down the streets and alleyways finally began in the evening. Gwenllian noticed it as she closed the shutters in the chamber she shared with Hugh and Alisoun, and ran to the landing to shout the news to those down below. Lucie laughed at her excitement.

  ‘When you wake in the morning the world might be white, as if someone played a trick on you in the night, covering up everything that points the way for you,’ said Lucie.

  Gwenllian clapped her hands and skipped back to her room, but Lucie toppled headlong into worry about Owen’s journey home.

  ‘He will not ride if the snowdrifts are too deep, Lucie,’ said Phillippa. ‘Your father is not in the habit of taking such risks.’

  How strangely her aunt’s mind worked, reading Lucie’s mood but mistaking the one about whom she worried because she’d slipped back into the past, confusing Owen with Sir Robert. Lucie patted Phillippa’s hand and thanked her.

  In the morning, Owen cursed the weather. Snow drifted to several feet against parts of the buildings circling the yard. Making his way from the hall to relieve himself was a cold, wet business. But the sun had risen in a clear sky, which could mean that he would be able to set out for home later.

  Lady Gamyll reported that Ysenda had been able to sit up to drink the tisane the healer had left as well as some broth. ‘I believe you might talk to her this morning, Captain.’

  Owen and his hostess had enjoyed a quiet conversation the previous night about Lucie and her joy over being with child. Lady Gamyll had asked many questions about his children, winning his devotion, and she seemed to have decided she might consider him a friend. She knew he wished to depart as soon as possible, believing the reason to be Lucie’s imminent lying in. Which was as well, for despite all they’d said about Osmund the previous day, Baldwin had been clear about not having shared his feelings about his son with her, so Owen did not wish to explain his fear of what Osmund might do in York.

  Owen asked Aubrey and Baldwin to join him in talking to Ysenda, hoping to save time. Hubert was incensed about not being included, despite Lady Gamyll’s attempts to engage him in some activity with her.

  Aubrey knelt to him, and looked him straight in the eyes. ‘I pray that your unease about some of your mother’s actions may soften in time, Hubert, and that you will once again feel that deep love for her that has always given me such joy to witness. That is why I don’t want you to come with us. I fear that you might hear things that would increase your unease. You’re too young to grasp how vulnerable any of us sometimes are to temptation. Do you understand?’

  By the boy’s expression Owen could tell that he understood to an extent, but was unconvinced.

  ‘She scared me, Da, and then I got angry and ran. I didn’t want to stay with her and listen to her apologies. I left her again. That’s when the house burned, and she was hurt. I hurt her, like I thought I would when I lost the cross. I want to know what really happened.’

  ‘I will tell you.’

  Hubert narrowed his eyes. ‘Will you tell me the whole truth about how it happened, even if you think I’m too young to understand?’

  Aubrey dropped his head.

  Owen was not certain what his own decision would be if Hubert were his son.

  Looking up at Hubert, Aubrey asked, ‘Do you swear to believe me?’

  Hubert shrugged.

  Rising, Aubrey nodded to his son. ‘Then come with us. I don’t want you to doubt.’

  Owen hoped Aubrey did not later regret his decision.

  Ysenda was resting against a pile of pillows, her face swollen and the eye beneath the wound blackened and swollen almost shut. But she forced a weak smile for her visitors.

  ‘I don’t remember how I came to be lying by the pond,’ she said with an embarrassed laugh. ‘Is that not strange?’ She noticed Hubert, who’d entered last, and held out her arm. ‘Come kiss me, my dear boy. I thank God you were not in the house when it happened.’

  Hubert hung back. ‘What happened, Ma? How did the fire start?’

  She turned with a frown towards Aubrey. ‘Where have you been? I was so worried.’

  ‘Not far, but too far to save the house. How did the fire begin?’

  She lifted her bandaged hand, then settled it back on a pillow with an unconvincing whimper. ‘Let’s talk of pleasant things this morning. I’m not well.’ She anxiously looked at Hubert and Aubrey.

  There was no doubt of
the truth of her last words, for the skin on the forearm of her wounded hand did not look healthy, and there was still an odour of rotting flesh about her.

  ‘We’ll talk of pleasant things later. We must talk this morning of important things, Ysenda,’ said Aubrey. ‘How did the fire start?’

  Biting her lip, Ysenda frowned at Sir Baldwin. ‘God bless you for taking us in, and taking care of me, my lord.’

  Owen thought it time to tell her about his discovery. She closed her eyes when he mentioned the chest, and her breathing quickened.

  ‘How did it begin, Dame Ysenda?’ Sir Baldwin suddenly interrupted. ‘When did you begin to steal from me?’

  She looked at him with an injured expression. ‘My lord?’

  ‘Ysenda, I’ve spent years returning the things you took from the hall,’ said Aubrey in a weary tone. ‘You cannot pretend it is not so. But I thought you’d taken only little things.’

  ‘Hubert, leave us,’ Ysenda cried, a desperate expression in her eyes. ‘They are being cruel. You don’t want to hear this. I don’t want you to hear this.’

  Aubrey shook his head at Hubert and gestured for him to stay. ‘Your son deserves to hear the truth.’

  ‘It does not sound as if truth will be heard in this company,’ she said, and despite her obvious discomfort she struggled to sit up straighter.

  Owen assisted her with the pillows. She thanked him in a half-heartedly flirtatious undertone.

  ‘Now, Dame Ysenda, you must understand that we have the evidence in the hall,’ Owen said, pulling her down to earth. ‘A chest we dug up from your outbuilding. Neither your son nor your husband knows anything about how it came to be there.’ He spoke quietly, but loud enough for all in the room to hear. ‘As your husband said, you cannot pretend it isn’t so.’

  Ysenda looked at Sir Baldwin, Aubrey, Hubert, her eyes lingering on her son as tears rolled down her swollen and bruised cheeks. ‘I am so ashamed. Pretty things – I love pretty things. I see them and I think just this one little ribbon, this pretty glass, I will take it for a little while and then put it back. And then I cannot part with it. God forgive me. When I was caught, I was frightened for my husband’s good name.’

  Owen, next to Aubrey, heard him grunt.

  ‘Caught by whom?’ Owen prompted.

  Ysenda lowered her eyes. ‘Master Osmund. He’s always watched me, coveted me. He found his way when he saw me take a length of silk. He followed me home and pulled it out from my gown. I was so ashamed. Then he searched the house. He found a cup from the hall. After that he was often at my house when Aubrey and Hubert were out, demanding payment for his silence.’

  ‘Evil,’ whispered Sir Baldwin.

  Aubrey pulled Hubert close and asked him if he wanted to leave. The boy shook his head. One benefit of the boy’s presence, Owen thought, was that Aubrey would guard his tongue, which might speed the inquiry.

  ‘Could you not have stopped taking things?’ Owen asked.

  ‘I had stopped. You cannot believe –’ she closed her eyes – ‘of course you can. But I had stopped. Then Sir Baldwin took a young wife. Osmund feared he would be disinherited and left with nothing. Now he told me what to steal, and where to hide it.’

  ‘What?’ Aubrey cried.

  ‘For pity’s sake, why did you not come to me?’ asked Baldwin. ‘Surely you knew to trust me?’

  Ysenda frowned at him. ‘He frightened me. Hurt me. I don’t know.’ The tears fell faster and she began to sob. ‘I know I’ve said it over and over again, but I was so ashamed. At least only he knew.’

  ‘Tears will not send us away,’ said Baldwin. ‘Calm yourself, Dame Ysenda.’ It was a crisp command.

  Ysenda covered her face and gradually quieted.

  ‘What did my son intend with the hoard?’ Baldwin demanded. Owen was surprised by his lack of sympathy.

  Ysenda took a few deep breaths. ‘He sent Drogo to me now and then for particular items to take downriver to Hull, to sell them.’

  Drogo’s frequent absences, Owen thought. ‘You knew Drogo well?’

  She nodded.

  ‘You said little when I told you of his murder.’

  Ysenda dropped her gaze. ‘I was afraid to say aught for fear I would be next. I’d known Drogo was in danger. He’d kept talking about how stingy Osmund was, that his part of the sale was worth far more than what Master Osmund allowed him to keep. Master Osmund had threatened that if either one of us ever turned greedy or if we betrayed him he would kill us, and I believed him. I knew Drogo was too stubborn to listen.’

  ‘But how did Osmund know that Drogo had the cross?’

  ‘The cross? I don’t believe he knew that Drogo had it. I don’t know that he would have cared. One little cross. He was angry that Drogo had been lying about prices, keeping more than his share of the profit – I think he thought Drogo had been doing it much longer than he had. Poor Drogo,’ Ysenda cried, looking as if she would burst into tears. ‘He wanted to send his daughters to Father Nicholas’s school. He was a good father.’

  ‘There has been another death – a goldsmith’s journeyman,’ said Owen as he poured her some wine. ‘It seems Drogo showed him the birthing cross.’

  Drying her eyes, Ysenda shook her head. ‘I don’t know why he would do that. He knew what it was – his mother was one of the first to survive a terrible delivery because of the cross,’ said Ysenda. ‘Unless he meant to sell it.’

  ‘Osmund had not told you to steal the cross.’

  Ysenda shook her head.

  ‘I wish you’d told me why you wanted me to stay the last time Master Osmund came,’ said Hubert.

  She tearfully thanked Owen for the wine and sipped it, seeming to calm a little. ‘I could not bring myself to tell you, my son. I could not.’

  Owen believed she loved Hubert in her way, and that it pained her to be exposed in front of him. But he had to ask the final question.

  Ysenda spoke first. ‘Captain Archer, is your son with you?’

  ‘No.’ He did not like the question. ‘Why do you ask, Dame Ysenda?’

  ‘I’ve been trying to remember what Osmund said about him. It was that day he came and called me a whore and a thief, and held my hand in the fire.’

  ‘Ysenda, no,’ Aubrey cried. ‘Did he start the fire?’

  She’d bowed her head and was now sobbing quietly as she cradled her bandaged hand.

  ‘Why was he so desperate?’ Baldwin asked.

  She drew a jagged breath. ‘Drogo said I was only one of several thieves – and he reckoned he was only one of several sellers. Osmund has much to protect.’

  Owen could not wait in courtesy. ‘Dame Ysenda, is my son in danger?’

  ‘God protect him, for I fear that he might be,’ she whispered. ‘Osmund might use him to distract you.’

  ‘Then I must leave as soon as possible for York, you can understand that. I must get to Jasper before Master Osmund does. I beg you, tell us about that day.’

  She took another deep breath. ‘He’d heard from Sir Baldwin of your coming to Weston asking the questions, and that you’d stayed at the hall. He said I must have known I must die, that he could not risk my talking about what he’d stolen. We’d had some cider, too much for me. I stood up and was dizzy. I stumbled, and when he grabbed me he put my hand in the flames and held it there. He said that was the way they dealt with thieves in the city. I fought him. Holy Mother of God, the pain was worse than childbirth. Then he hit me in the head.’ She touched her bandaged forehead. ‘I remember that, I remember falling, and my hem beginning to burn. I remember rolling away. Snow – I remember snow. Icy water that stopped the pain. A wagon ride. Then I woke here.’

  Aubrey sat down on the bed, took her good hand and kissed it.

  ‘And sometime in the attack he mentioned my son?’ Owen asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she sobbed.

  ‘There was a ring in the scrip Hubert had taken to York,’ he said, ‘Drogo’s mother’s ring.’

  ‘Sweet Jesus, oh dear
Drogo –’ Her voice broke and she looked away from Aubrey.

  Owen asked Hubert to find Alfred and tell him to get their horses ready.

  ‘And mine,’ said Sir Baldwin. ‘If you apprehend Osmund, I want to be there.’

  Hubert nodded and withdrew.

  ‘Thank you, Captain,’ said Ysenda. ‘At least he won’t hear – I loved that ring. Drogo had given it to me when we made our vows long ago, in front of friends. But then I discovered I was with child, my lord’s child, and – I confess I thought I might do better. I went to Sir Baldwin and he named Aubrey as a man worthy of me.’

  ‘You were wed to Drogo?’ Aubrey cried. ‘Do you even know whose son you bore? Christ, how could I have loved you?’ It was his turn to look away.

  ‘I was too far along for it to be Drogo’s child,’ she said. ‘A woman knows these things. Was the ring in the scrip when Drogo returned it?’

  ‘No.’

  She looked crestfallen. ‘I thought – I’m foolish, but I thought for a moment that Drogo meant for me to have the ring. That he’d put it in the scrip to give to Hubert.’

  ‘We believe it was stolen from Drogo’s home after he died,’ said Owen. ‘Did Osmund know the significance of the ring?’

  ‘I spoke of it to him, yes. I wanted him to know that someone had truly loved me, wanted to wed me – he liked to remind me that his father had coaxed Aubrey into wedding me.’ She was looking at the back of her husband’s head. ‘I learned to love you, Aubrey.’

  ‘You were never my wife,’ he said in a broken voice.

  Owen still did not understand why Osmund or anyone would add the ring to the scrip, but at present that was not his greatest concern. He must protect Jasper.

  As Jasper stepped out to the street on his way to school he laughed at the shrieks coming from the garden – Gwenllian and Hugh had rushed out to attack the snow. He remembered feeling that way about it.

  He had not told Dame Lucie about seeing Osmund Gamyll the previous evening, fearing she’d worry and find reasons to keep him home until the captain returned. That would not do, because Jasper felt a responsibility to let Master Nicholas know the man had been trying his doors. He’d felt guilty all night for not having told the guard. He headed for the archbishop’s palace.