The Nun's Tale: An Owen Archer Mystery

by Candace Robb

  Tildy was proud of her pretty mistress as Lucie left on her father’s arm, following Gilbert and Sir Robert’s squire, Daimon.

  Nine

  Lucie Dines at the Palace

  Thoresby met Lucie and her father halfway across the hall.

  ‘Welcome, Mistress Wilton, Sir Robert. You are most gracious to come.’

  Lucie curtsied. ‘Your Grace honours us.’ Her eyes were downcast, but he had seen how alertly she had glanced round the hall as she entered. She looked lovely, in a blue gown that matched her eyes. In carriage and grace, her noble breeding showed.

  Thoresby turned to the white-haired gentleman. He had expected a somberly dressed man, knowing of D’Arby’s long pilgrimage to the Outremer after his wife’s death. But D’Arby surprised him, elegant in a green velvet gown with a jewelled belt hung with an intricately carved dagger. ‘Sir Robert, you are most welcome. I met you once, years ago, when you were in the King’s service.’

  Sir Robert bowed. ‘I was honoured then, and I am honoured now, Your Grace.’

  ‘My man was an acceptable escort?’

  Sir Robert bowed again. ‘Though there was no need, Your Grace. My squire Daimon is sufficient protection for my daughter.’

  ‘Perhaps I erred on the side of caution, but as Mistress Wilton undoubtedly knows, two of my men were attacked a few days ago. And I am in the midst of a puzzling situation involving two violent deaths. I worried that I might endanger you by asking you to come this evening. People know Captain Archer works for me, and in what capacity. And if the attackers knew that Mistress Wilton has spoken with Dame Joanna Calverley …’

  Sir Robert looked puzzled. ‘I feel as if I have entered the room in the middle of a conversation.’

  Lucie, however, looked enlightened. ‘So this evening has to do with Dame Joanna?’

  Seeing Sir Robert’s confusion, Thoresby realised Lucie Wilton had told her father nothing of this matter. Perhaps this evening had not been such a clever idea after all. But he must make the best of it. He smiled at Lucie. ‘Brother Wulfstan and Dame Isobel de Percy both recommended I consult you in the matter.’

  Sir Robert glanced with alarm from the archbishop to his daughter then back to the archbishop. ‘Your Grace! Have you involved my daughter in some dangerous scheme?’

  Lucie put her hand on her father’s arm. ‘Peace, Sir Robert. I assisted St Mary’s infirmarian with a runaway nun who has returned a prodigal, that is all.’

  Sir Robert’s dark look made it plain he was uneasy. Thoresby must quickly calm the man or the evening would be a waste. ‘Please, Sir Robert, I know your daughter’s condition, and I have seen her husband in action. I assure you I would do nothing to incur his wrath.’

  Lucie gave a little laugh. ‘Besides, Sir Robert, it was not His Grace but my old friend Brother Wulfstan, and Dame Isobel de Percy, the prioress of St Clement’s, who approached me about Dame Joanna.’

  The uncomfortable moment was interrupted by the arrival of two men.

  One, dressed in the robes of an archdeacon, bowed to the archbishop. ‘Your Grace!’ He was of slight build with the sort of face that remains boyish until wrinkles or scars trouble the smooth surface.

  The other gentleman was a startling twin to the archbishop, only younger.

  Thoresby introduced Jehannes, Archdeacon of York, and Sir Richard de Ravenser, Provost of Beverley and Master of St Leonard’s Hospital. Noting Lucie’s glances back and forth between himself and Ravenser, Thoresby added, ‘Sir Richard is my sister’s son, Mistress Wilton. I see you note the similarities.’

  Lucie blushed becomingly. ‘It is remarkable.’

  Thoresby watched with amusement his nephew’s reaction to Lucie Wilton. Ravenser looked Lucie over, then glanced quickly at his own attire and breathed easy, knowing he was fashionably and attractively attired in a green houpelande patterned with leaves, and gold leggings. ‘Mistress Wilton, you ornament the room with your beauty,’ Ravenser said with a little bow.

  Two red patches of irritation showed high on Lucie’s cheekbones. She levelled cold blue eyes on Ravenser. ‘Sir Richard.’

  Ravenser glanced with confusion at his uncle, who was not quick enough to erase the smirk from his face. ‘Mistress Wilton is a master apothecary, Richard. I have asked her here tonight to consult with us concerning Dame Joanna – not as an ornament.’

  Fortunately for Ravenser, Lizzie called them to table. Brother Michaelo already waited there.

  Over the mawnenye, a delicately seasoned dish of lentils and lamb, Jehannes and Michaelo kept up a steady exchange of news about preparations for the Corpus Christi procession and pageants. Sir Robert ate with enthusiasm while politely answering Ravenser’s questions about the estate of Freythorpe Hadden. When the henne dorre was served, Brother Michaelo quizzed Lucie as to the virtues of cardamom and whether eating such a quantity of it in the chicken dish would invigorate them. Lucie was puzzled by the secretary. He had always seemed a disagreeable man, but tonight he was almost as charming as Jehannes, who proved as forthright and gentle as Owen had described him. What intrigued Lucie most, however, was how neither the present secretary nor the former made any effort to hide their admiration for John Thoresby. Lucie found herself watching the archbishop closely, wondering what it was about the man that inspired such loyalty in his secretaries and distrust in Owen. Ravenser she largely ignored – though it was difficult for he stared so. He was not an unpleasant looking man, with intelligent dark eyes and a sensitive mouth, but he obviously believed that, as ornaments, women welcomed stares. Lucie tried not to ruin the evening by fuming under his persistent regard.

  After supper the servants arranged the chairs round the fire. Small tables held fruit and nuts, brandywine, claret and mead.

  The company sat and Thoresby picked up the brandywine, poured himself a cup and invited the others to help themselves. Lucie, her father, Ravenser and Jehannes followed Thoresby’s choice. Michaelo hesitated, looking uncomfortable.

  ‘Shall I go, Your Grace? Do you want me part of this?’

  Thoresby sipped his brandywine and studied his secretary over the rim of his cup. ‘Should I not trust you, Brother Michaelo?’

  The secretary looked surprised by the blunt question. ‘I – you can trust me with your life, Heaven be my witness.’

  Thoresby nodded. ‘Then pour yourself a refreshment, Brother Michaelo, and prick up your ears.’ The archbishop nodded at Lucie. ‘I will let you speak soon. But first I must tell you of recent events. They convince me that we are faced with something far more serious than a lovesick, abandoned nun.’ He related Alfred’s tale. ‘From the first, Will Longford’s involvement has disturbed me, his having been in the Free Company of Bertrand du Guesclin. Is it possible that Dame Joanna fell among knaves who fear she will reveal their treacheries? Or was she one of them before she fled? I am uneasy about Longford’s role in all this.’

  Thoresby turned to Sir Robert. ‘I gather Mistress Wilton has told you nothing of this circumstance?’

  Sir Robert gave a little bow. ‘And, forgive me, Your Grace – but the more I hear, the more I dislike it.’ He turned to his daughter. ‘Not that I would interfere, but as your father I must be permitted to worry about you.’

  Lucie inclined her head, though she found Sir Robert’s sudden enthusiasm for fatherhood ridiculous.

  Sir Robert turned back to the archbishop. ‘Would you rather I did not take part in this consultation?’

  ‘Not at all. You had much experience with the Free Companies. You might have some insight.’

  Sir Robert sat up a bit straighter. ‘I might. But it will bore your other guests if you must explain the situation.’

  ‘Not at all. Everyone knows pieces, not the complete story. It will do us all good to review it.’ Thoresby sipped his brandywine and recounted the details, which he had listed for himself earlier in the day. He ended with Dame Isobel’s note requesting Lucie’s assistance.

  Lucie was puzzled by Joanna’s remark about the grave
, but saw nothing immediately alarming about it. Neither did the others. But the torn throat alarmed them all.

  ‘She must be guarded at all times,’ Ravenser said.

  ‘He is right,’ agreed Lucie. ‘Dame Joanna believes she is cursed. It is impossible to predict what she might do.’

  Thoresby nodded. ‘Dame Joanna has a fevered imagination.’ He turned to Lucie. ‘When you examined Dame Joanna, did you find any injuries?’

  Lucie described the nun’s condition. ‘Dame Joanna resolutely blamed her own clumsiness for all the injuries and says she is cursed and must not be healed.’

  ‘A stubborn woman,’ Ravenser commented.

  Lucie closed her eyes so that she would not burn Ravenser with her look. She wanted to like him, but he tried her patience. How could such a man be provost of Beverley and master of St Leonard’s Hospital?

  ‘What do you conclude from these injuries?’ Thoresby asked.

  ‘That she was beaten recently – perhaps a month ago. How many times I cannot say. It is possible that all the injuries are from the same attack.’

  Ravenser was shaking his head. ‘No man enjoys beating a woman. So the question is what Dame Joanna did to spur a man to such violence.’

  Now it was Sir Robert shaking his head at Ravenser. ‘The men of the Free Companies are notorious for raping and then brutally murdering women – nuns included.’

  Ravenser opened his mouth to protest, but Thoresby put up a hand to silence him. ‘So she has been in the company of someone who exhibits the behaviour of a soldier in the Free Companies,’ Thoresby said.

  ‘Perhaps Longford,’ Sir Robert suggested.

  ‘Indeed.’ Thoresby poured more brandywine, sat back, studying the ceiling. ‘Joanna’s family paid a generous sum to St Clement’s so that they might have nothing more to do with her.’

  Ravenser sniffed. ‘Simony.’

  Thoresby glanced at his secretary, who ducked his head under the archbishop’s regard. ‘It is not sanctioned by the Church to pay a monastery to take someone, but sadly it is not an uncommon practice, a family buying a place for an ill-favoured member.’

  Lucie remembered what Owen had told her about Thoresby’s accepting Michaelo as his secretary because of a generous donation by his family to the minster’s Lady Chapel. Thoresby had described Michaelo as his hair shirt.

  Thoresby, looking directly at Michaelo, added, ‘Sometimes such arrangements develop into workable relationships.’

  Lucie watched Michaelo’s surprise. He did not look up, but she saw the ghost of a smile playing round his mouth. Something had changed between the archbishop and his secretary, that was plain.

  ‘Still,’ Jehannes said, ‘her family wishing to dispose of her suggests that she has ever been difficult.’

  ‘Do you think Dame Joanna is mad, Mistress Wilton?’ Thoresby asked.

  Lucie shook her head. ‘I think she is burdened by a guilt that gnaws at her and gives her no peace.’

  ‘They tell me she spoke more clearly to you than she has to anyone else.’ Thoresby sipped his brandywine thoughtfully. ‘If you will agree, Mistress Wilton, I think it wise you speak with Dame Joanna.’

  Lucie clutched her cup. ‘I have the shop, Your Grace.’

  ‘You shall rule when the meetings occur.’

  ‘I have not agreed.’

  ‘No. But I beg you to consider it. Two men lie injured at St Mary’s infirmary, one perhaps mortally. A young woman was raped and murdered, Longford’s servant was murdered and buried in the grave dug for Joanna. Something is amiss here, and we must discover what before worse befalls us. The Reverend Mother has tried to gain Joanna’s confidence, but she has not been as successful as you. In truth, I have little faith in Dame Isobel at present.’

  ‘You are asking my daughter to place herself in danger,’ Sir Robert said. His voice was quiet, but angry.

  Thoresby nodded. ‘I would not ask it of most women. But I also know something of Mistress Wilton’s mettle. She will not fail me.’

  Lucie felt a confusing assortment of emotions. ‘You hope to convince me with flattery, Your Grace?’

  He smiled. ‘You are as blunt as Archer. No. I ask only that you consider it.’

  ‘Owen asked me to promise not to become more involved in this.’

  Thoresby raised an eyebrow. ‘Ah. He anticipated me. He is angry that I sent him off so quickly to Leeds to speak with the Calverleys.’

  Lucie shrugged. ‘I did not promise.’

  Sir Robert interposed. ‘I do not understand, Your Grace. Why have you pulled Owen away from his work with the archers? Is not Lancaster’s mission to Prince Edward of greater importance than a runaway nun and at worst a band of cutthroats hoping to silence her?’

  Lucie was shocked by her father’s boldness.

  But Thoresby looked unsurprised. ‘To Lancaster it is certainly more important. But he might change his mind.’

  Sir Robert shook his head. ‘You cannot think that your concerns for York are more important than the welfare of all England. You are the King’s Lord Chancellor.’

  ‘True enough. But I am not at all certain that England is best served by restoring Don Pedro to the throne of Castile.’

  ‘The King has pledged his support,’ Ravenser said softly.

  Lucie wished to hear more, this being the mission Owen was helping prepare. ‘If Don Pedro is the legitimate heir, how can there be a question? And the French helped Enrique take Castile. Are we not at war with France?’

  Thoresby studied the dregs of wine in his cup, placed the cup on the table beside him. He clasped his hands and pressed both thumbs on the muscle between his brows, then looked up at Lucie. ‘From time to time we are at war with France, yes. But as to the legitimacy of Pedro, the Pope himself has refuted that. He excommunicated Don Pedro and legitimised Pedro’s half-brother. If one believes the Pope to be infallible, the French are in the right.’

  ‘Why did the Pope excommunicate him?’

  Thoresby shrugged. ‘For no more than that Pedro is on good terms with the Moorish king of Granada. His Holiness might have found far worse with which to charge Pedro. There are rumours that would have him a tyrant of astonishing cruelty. They say he had his wife, a princess of France, murdered the day after he wed her. I find it difficult to believe such blatant evil. It is a fact that he repudiated her, and that she died shortly thereafter, but surely a king has advisers enough to be subtler. And yet he is said to have had many nobles of his country murdered.’

  Jehannes crossed himself. ‘Then why do Lancaster and the Prince support him?’

  ‘Because of a treaty our King signed four years ago. Because the King believes Pedro is King of Castile by Divine Right. Because Pedro promises Prince Edward lordships in Castile. But perhaps most of all because the French support Enrique. You see why I question the wisdom of this dangerous campaign.’

  ‘This is treasonous speech,’ Ravenser said quietly. ‘Our King is already plagued with one treasonous blackguard in the York chapter.’

  ‘Heath is the Pope’s man not because he believes in Urban’s infallibility but because he has found the way to Urban’s ear and makes money whispering into it for his countrymen. I am not such a weasel, Richard. Nor am I part of the chapter. Indeed, had the dean and chapter their way I should never venture closer to York than Bishopthorpe.’

  Lucie found this digression tedious. What cared she about the dean and chapter? She wondered how to bring this conversation to a close.

  Fortunately, Thoresby came to the point. ‘Whether we are in the right or no, surely it should not take long for Archer to speak with the Calverleys. And then he will continue to Pontefract to present the archers to Lancaster. I am confident that Lancaster will be pleased. Besides, Sir Nicholas de Louth is to tell Lancaster of all that has happened, particularly concerning Will Longford and Dame Joanna’s story of soldiers sailing out of Scarborough harbour.’

  Jehannes leaned forward. ‘What is this?’

  ‘The abbess o
f Nunburton recounted several versions of the nun’s story,’ Ravenser said. ‘But the consistent items were soldiers and archers sailing away with men who spoke a variety of tongues. Luring away our fighting men to weaken us? It has the flavour of du Guesclin.’

  ‘Do you have proof of this?’ Jehannes asked.

  Ravenser shook his head.

  ‘You see how the events surrounding Dame Joanna’s reappearance concern me both as archbishop and lord chancellor?’ Thoresby said. ‘And they might change Lancaster’s mind as to the importance of Joanna Calverley.’

  Sir Robert shrugged. ‘Regardless, our cause in Castile is just. Whether or no Pedro has earned the popular title “the Cruel”, he is king by Divine Right.’

  ‘As an excommunicate, has he not forfeited that right?’ Thoresby asked.

  Sir Robert frowned. ‘You sound more the Pope’s man than the King’s.’

  ‘As archbishop and lord chancellor, I have three lords, Our Divine Lord, the Pope, and my King.’

  Disturbed by Sir Robert’s growing agitation, Lucie rose. ‘Forgive me, but it grows late, Your Grace, gentlemen. I must thank you for your hospitality.’

  Thoresby rose and bowed to Lucie. ‘I hope you will see your way to helping us, Mistress Wilton. And that you do not pause too long over your decision.’

  ‘I am not in the habit of pondering choices overlong, Your Grace. I am already resolved to assist you.’

  Thoresby smiled. ‘God bless you, Mistress Wilton. I am in your debt.’

  ‘I shall go to St Mary’s tomorrow.’

  The archbishop himself escorted Lucie and Sir Robert to the door. While they waited for Lizzie to fetch Lucie’s mantle, Thoresby took Lucie aside. ‘I wish to apologise for involving you in this, and for sending your husband away when you carry your first child.’

  Lucie studied his face, saw that he seemed sincere. ‘I thank you. It is not easy being away from Owen at this time. But I would not dream of using my being with child to keep Owen from his duties. Or to shirk my own.’