by Candace Robb
‘What can I do?’ Jasper asked.
Lucie hugged him. ‘You are my strength just by being here.’
Jasper patted her back awkwardly. ‘Dame Phillippa cannot have gone far. Kate says she checked on her in mid-afternoon. She was sleeping then.’
Lucie straightened up. ‘She wants to return to the manor, so she will be looking for transport. Roger Moreton’s house? She knows we travelled in his cart. Or the York Tavern.’ Had it been yesterday’s conversation in the garden that had prompted this?
‘Dame Phillippa was confused again this morning,’ Jasper said. ‘All know her state and no one will agree to take her anywhere. But why would she want to leave us?’
‘Because I unpacked her things when she would go home.’
‘Why does she want to go home?’
Lucie looked at the young man before her, smoothed back his hair. ‘Go search for her, Jasper, that is what you can do. Then, when we have her safely at home, I promise to tell you. I do not know why I did not already – you might be able to help me think how to help her.’
Jasper rose. ‘Master Moreton’s, then Mistress Merchet’s.’ He hurried out.
Lucie went into the kitchen to ask Kate what she remembered about Phillippa’s behaviour and to see whether Gwenllian had been hurt or just startled. Magda Digby, still wrapped in a long scarf and booted from her journey, was in the kitchen, Gwenllian on her lap, telling the child a tale of the Norsemen. She glanced up as Lucie entered, nodded, but did not falter in the tale. The little girl was leaning her head against Magda’s shoulder, her eyelids heavy. Kate was cutting up bread to soak in warm milk for the children. Hugh sat at her feet playing quietly with a handful of twigs.
‘She says Daimon is slow to mend,’ Kate told Lucie.
‘How is your sister?’
‘The Riverwoman says Tildy is happy now Alfred and Gilbert are there.’ Kate sighed at a knock on the hall door, wiping her hands on her apron.
‘Stay here, take care of the little ones,’ Lucie said. ‘I shall see who it is.’ Whoever it was, Lucie intended to send them on their way. She wanted to hear what Magda had to say.
But it was Roger Moreton on the doorstep, hatless and anxious. ‘Jasper has told me,’ he said breathlessly. ‘What might I do to help?’
Lucie thanked God for her good friends. ‘Jasper must be at the tavern. You might search with him. Do you think the guard at Micklegate Bar would remember whether Phillippa had passed through?’
‘We cannot know without asking,’ said Roger, already backing away. ‘I shall offer Master Jasper my services.’
‘God go with you, Roger,’ Lucie called after him as he bustled down the side garden and out on to Davygate, where he turned left, towards St Helen’s Square.
She found Magda sitting at the abandoned dinner table, unwrapping the long wool scarf from her head, neck, shoulders. At last she shook her head and patted her white braids. ‘Better now. The children are having their meal. Thou shouldst calm thyself and think of other matters. Thou hast a good pair searching the city.’
Lucie took brandywine and two mazers out of a cupboard. Magda sat at the head of the table. Lucie slipped on to the bench that ran down the side. She rubbed her hands. ‘Tell me how you found Daimon. And the household.’
Magda felt Lucie’s hands. ‘First pour thy brandywine and tell Magda why her old friend Dame Phillippa has wandered away from thy house.’
‘I found her –’
‘Warm thyself with the brandywine,’ Magda ordered, pointing imperiously at the bottle.
When Lucie had complied, taking several fortifying sips, she told Magda about Phillippa’s conviction that she was needed at Freythorpe and about the parchment that seemed so much on her mind.
‘Douglas Sutton, aye. Phillippa mourned him, but the gods smiled on her when they took him so young.’
‘Did you know him?’
‘Magda did not need to. He was still in Phillippa’s eyes. They were not happy eyes.’
Someone shouted in the street. Lucie’s heart raced. She began to stand, felt Magda’s strong hand on her forearm.
‘If it is for thee, they will come to the door,’ she said.
Of course they would. But how could Lucie sit still?
‘What dost thou think will befall thy aunt? She is not a fool.’
‘She is lame, confused …’
‘Does she carry a money purse?’
‘No.’
‘Wear jewels? Fine rings?’
‘No.’
‘The thieves will ignore a poor crone. Magda knows.’ Her deep blue eyes smiled.
Jasper and Roger clattered into the house. Roger stood at a distance, while Jasper rushed to Lucie, kissed her forehead. He smelled of fresh air and sweat.
‘Bess had not seen her, nor the gatekeeper at Micklegate or Bootham, nor at the stables of masters Cobb or Wakefield.’
‘Now the churches,’ Magda said. ‘Begin with the minster.’
‘Why?’ Jasper asked.
‘Dost thou question the Riverwoman?’
‘Go, Jasper,’ Lucie said, her heart pounding. Pray God Magda was right. She pressed his hand.
He hugged her and loped across the room to Roger. ‘Come, Master Moreton. We have many churches to search!’
Poor Roger looked weary, but he nodded to Lucie and Magda, and followed Jasper out of the door.
‘Let us hope Magda has not sent them on a futile search.’
‘Do you doubt what you said?’ Lucie asked, fearing to have her hopes dashed.
‘No. Now Magda must tell thee about Freythorpe.’ She told Lucie about Daimon’s response to the physicks, Harold’s efficient work, Tildy’s gentle rule over the household.
Lucie found Daimon’s delicate humours distressing. Could she have forgotten that about him? For surely she had nursed him before. She pushed that aside, to think about later. ‘Alfred and Gilbert have arrived?’
Magda made a face. ‘Aye, two eager soldiers. Young Tildy is much relieved, but the borrowed steward wishes them gone.’
‘Why?’
‘He would be first knight. Their presence insults him.’
‘That is silly.’
‘He has some secret he keeps close to him. Hast thou observed him with servants?’
‘What sort of secret?’
‘He keeps it well. Didst thou observe him with servants?’
‘I did. He was solicitous of Tildy. Showed respect to Daimon. Is he too lenient with the servants?’
Magda sniffed. Frowned out of the window. ‘He showed a different face to thee, Magda thinks. He is a Janus, then. Mayhap that is why Tildy does not trust him.’
‘She said nothing to me.’
Magda shook her head. ‘It is a thing happens slowly – doubts, questions. She thinks he finds being steward of Freythorpe Hadden to his liking. But Daimon stands in the way.’
It took a moment for Lucie to catch the implication, which then outraged her. ‘Has Tildy lost her wits! You have told her that Daimon’s confusion was my fault. Harold is a good man. He would never poison a man to steal his post. He has no need.’
Despite her age, Magda had piercing eyes, which were now locked on Lucie’s. ‘How thou dost protest, Mistress Apothecary. Dost thou know Galfrey so well?’
‘You know that I do not. But I judged him to be a good man. What has he done to deserve such suspicion?’
‘Naught but that he is too comfortable.’
‘Tildy is a foolish girl.’
‘Nay. She is loyal to thee. It is far easier for her to believe a stranger could make such a mistake than that thou couldst.’
Lucie saw the truth in that. ‘Forgive my temper.’
‘Thou hast much on thy mind. A little temper is a good thing. But Magda is not finished. Dost thou know Colby, John Gisburne’s servant?’
‘The thief who is always pardoned?’
‘Aye. He appeared at Freythorpe yesterday and asked for the borrowed steward. He told him that N
an’s son Joseph was about.’
‘It was good of John Gisburne to warn my steward.’
‘Aye. Too good of him.’
‘Why would you doubt it?’
‘It seems a long way to send a servant with such information. Does Gisburne owe thee such a favour? Didst thou save his life?’
‘No. You do have doubts about Harold.’
Magda wagged her head. ‘Magda does not like Gisburne’s interest in this.’
Neither did Lucie. John Gisburne had never been particularly friendly to the family. ‘Perhaps he knows Harold Galfrey well. He did recommend him to Roger.’
Magda picked up her scarf, pushed herself away from the table. ‘Magda must see whether her home has floated away.’
‘I wish you would stay until Jasper returns.’
But Magda was already winding her scarf. ‘It is best to reach Bootham Bar before the gatekeeper closes it.’
‘God bless you for everything, Magda.’
‘Magda enjoyed the hearth and the food. Nan curses the sod, but she graces the kitchen.’
Goodwife Constance opened Roger Moreton’s door. She was a tiny woman, hardly more than a child in stature, though her face was lined with age. Her nose had apparently continued to grow after she stopped, for it would suit an amazon. Or an eagle. ‘Oh, what will you think of the master. He is not at home. But come in, I pray you, and I shall see that you have wine to soothe you and a goodly chair in which to wait.’
Brother Michaelo bowed to her. ‘Perhaps I am too early?’
‘Not at all. I pray you, come in.’
Constance showed him into a large room with a brazier and several chairs of excellent design, large carved backs, embroidered cushions on the seats. Master Moreton had elegant taste.
‘The master will return anon,’ babbled the woman, ‘for certain, he has not forgotten. It is only that Mistress Wilton’s aged aunt is missing and they are worried about the poor woman. She is not as she once was. Master Moreton is helping Jasper de Melton in his search.’
‘Dame Phillippa missing?’ Michaelo crossed himself. Remembering her confusion at the manor, he understood their concern. ‘I shall be patient.’
This, then, was to be Michaelo’s penance – to sit here, waiting for a merchant, listening to this woman’s chatter. He resigned himself to his punishment, though he would have preferred to be left alone to pray for Dame Phillippa.
Weary of waiting and needing a distraction, Lucie went into the kitchen to see the children. But Hugh was already asleep in Kate’s lap and Gwenllian curled up on a bench in the corner with her favourite rag doll.
‘I should put them to bed,’ Kate whispered, ‘but they are so peaceful where they are.’
‘Let them rest. When you grow weary, or Jasper comes in, take them up to bed.’
Lucie tore some bread from the loaf on the table and went back out into the hall to pace as she chewed.
She was trying to focus on Magda’s news, consider what she should do, but she could not keep her mind from worry about Phillippa. All that could be done was being done. But if any ill befell her aunt, Lucie could not bear it. It would be her fault. She should have understood how much Phillippa wished to return to the manor. Was she lying in a ditch? Sweet Jesu. An elderly neighbour had been found last week in a rain-swollen ditch by the edge of the road in the Forest of Galtres. It was said that her family had refused to escort her to the house of an old friend in Easingwold who lay dying. Folk already gossiped about Lucie. What would they say about this? Catastrophe loomed in the shadows.
When she heard someone fumbling with the latch on the hall door, she ran with pounding heart to open it. God be thanked, it was Jasper and Dame Phillippa. Weeping with relief, Lucie hugged her aunt, guided her to a chair while chiding her for not telling anyone she was going out.
‘I was praying,’ Phillippa said, ‘at many churches. Why did the lad bring me home?’
Lucie glanced up at Jasper.
‘Kate has kept the pottage warm and there is a good loaf of bread. Bring some for you and Dame Phillippa.’ Lucie turned back to her aunt. ‘What is this about?’
‘I mean to pray in every church in York that the Lord might hear my need and tell me where I hid the parchment.’
Phillippa began to wriggle out of her cloak. Lucie helped her.
‘Why every church?’
‘I cannot believe the Lord would ignore a prayer from every church in York.’
‘How many did you manage?’
Phillippa closed her eyes and straightened a finger for each church as she recited, ‘The minster, St Michael-le-Belfry, St Christopher’s Chapel, St Helen’s, St Martin’s. Master Moreton and Jasper interrupted me there and insisted that I come along with them.’
This was not one of Phillippa’s confused moods. Lucie had learned a valuable lesson this evening. She would not treat her aunt like a child again, simply forbidding, not discussing. ‘Next time, please ask one of us to accompany you. I promise you we shall.’
Jasper placed a bowl of pottage and a chunk of the soft centre of the loaf before Phillippa, poured her a cup of wine and added some water.
‘You are the best lad,’ Phillippa said, patting his hand. ‘I pray you forgive an old woman’s fit of anger.’
Jasper hunched his shoulders. ‘I do not like my plans interrupted either.’ He slipped on to the bench beside her.
Lucie asked after Roger Moreton.
‘He remembered a guest, who had already waited a good while,’ said Jasper with a mouth full of bread.
‘I shall go to his house with a basket of flowers tomorrow to thank him,’ Lucie said. She would also ask him about Harold’s relationship with John Gisburne. ‘Wait for me down here,’ she told Jasper. ‘I shall see the children off to bed, and aunt, and then we shall have the talk I promised.’
Michaelo drank little wine. He was comfortable – Goodwife Constance had noted how he winced when he leaned back in the chair, thrown up her hands in horror that he had not told her he was suffering and offered elegantly embroidered cushions to ease him. But that was the trouble. Michaelo had slept well the previous night, thanks to Brother Henry’s sleep draught, but one night’s rest did not compensate for his long bout of penitential sleeplessness, and he feared that wine and a comfortable chair might undo him. The goodwife wished to hear all about Wales, so he kept himself awake by talking, giving her lengthy, detailed descriptions of the castles, palaces, great houses and abbeys in which he had stayed on his pilgrimage.
When Roger Moreton entered the hall, dishevelled and red of face, the goodwife rose reluctantly. ‘Did you find the poor woman?’ she asked.
‘We did indeed.’
‘God be praised. Will you be needing anything more than wine?’
‘If we do, I shall call for you.’ Roger waited until she was well away. Then he turned to Michaelo and apologised, telling him of his mission and its happy outcome. ‘But I have kept you sitting here so long. You have my full attention.’
Indeed, Michaelo felt he had been more than patient even though he understood the circumstance. ‘His Grace the Archbishop is concerned about the troubles at Freythorpe Hadden. As godfather to young Hugh, the future heir, and his sister, His Grace sees it as his duty in their father’s absence to watch over the family. He therefore requests your assurance that Harold Galfrey is capable to serve as steward while the wounded steward recovers. He should like to see his letter of recommendation, hear anything else you might know about his former employment.’
Roger made a face. He truly was an unsophisticated sort. ‘In faith, I did not see his letter. He was set upon by outlaws on his way to York. They stole his purse. But he served as steward for the Godwin manor near Kingston-upon-Hull.’
‘How then did John Gisburne come to recommend Galfrey so highly, if he had no letter?’
The merchant looked embarrassed. ‘I did not think to ask him.’
‘Is there anything else you might tell me about him?’
/> ‘No. I feel quite foolish to confess it. But I put my faith in John Gisburne. He has ever been good to me.’
Deus juva me, Michaelo had accepted Mistress Wilton’s reassurances. But had she known that Roger Moreton was so under the influence of John Gisburne? The man’s taste in servants and retainers had been cause for more than a few rumours. Michaelo dreaded reporting all this to Thoresby.
The hall was quiet, only two oil lamps still burned, one at the bottom of the steps, one on the table. Lucie wondered whether Jasper had been too tired to wait for her to finish settling Phillippa for the night. She had been reluctant to drink her calming tisane. Lucie had spent a long while up there convincing her aunt that she would not sleep the sleep of the dead. In truth, the tisane was stronger than on previous nights, but Phillippa need not know that. Lucie did not wish her to wake confused and attempt another church.
Picking up the lamp at the bottom of the steps, Lucie held it high so that she might see more of the table. Now she saw Jasper’s fair hair hanging over the bench on which he had been sitting. As she crept closer she saw that he lay on his side and had covered himself with a blanket. Sleeping, yes, but determined to talk to her. He had been a great help to her of late. Did she thank him enough? She could never predict his behaviour these days. But why did that bother her so? Had she ever truly been able to predict him, or had he simply been more obedient earlier, more eager to do what he thought she wished than to follow his own heart.
‘Jasper,’ she whispered in his ear, was about to settle in the chair at the head of the table but found Crowder and Melisende curled up together. She moved to the bench across the table from Jasper.
With much rubbing of his eyes and shaking of his head, Jasper rose and wrapped the blanket round his shoulders.
‘She is abed?’ he asked.
‘Safely, yes.’ Lucie smiled at the question. ‘You do not wish to go in search of her again this evening?’
He laughed. ‘Tell me what this is about.’
Lucie told him all she knew of the missing parchment about which Phillippa was so concerned, and more. She confided in him her belief that the thieves had included someone who knew the house well, told him of Daimon’s slow healing and Tildy’s suspicion, of Colby’s visit to the manor. She saw that he understood that he was being treated as a man.
