The Nun's Tale: An Owen Archer Mystery

by Candace Robb

  The gardener shrugged. ‘As you will.’

  ‘We would speak with Master Calverley,’ Louth said.

  The gardener grinned and stepped back with a little bow. ‘And so you are.’

  ‘You?’ It was not just his gardening attire that surprised Owen – Trot’s story had led him to expect a man deep in mourning. Matthew Calverley seemed quite cheerful.

  Matthew chuckled. ‘I have handed most of my business over to my son for the summer. Let him sink or swim in the best tradition of ordeals. I must know at some point whether he is fit to take it over completely, mustn’t I? And while he’s flailing round in the pond of commerce, I am enjoying my garden.’

  Owen found the watery images disturbing from a man whose wife had drowned, but he put on a smile. ‘My wife is always happiest when she can spend some part of her day at work in the garden.’

  Matthew looked Owen up and down. ‘Married, are you? I wouldn’t have thought.’ He shrugged. ‘So, men, what does the Church want with Matthew Calverley?’

  ‘We hoped you might tell us a little about your daughter, Joanna,’ Owen said.

  Matthew’s expression grew pensive. ‘Ah. The poor little chit. Is she in good health?’

  Louth shrugged. ‘Dame Joanna is recovering at St Mary’s Abbey from a long journey in unfavourable circumstances. The flesh improves each day; but the spirit – that is why we are here. We hope that if we learn more about her we shall be better able to help her recover.’

  Matthew glanced from one to the other with a puzzled frown. ‘A long journey? She took her vows at Clementhorpe Priory, last I heard. How’s she been on a long journey?’

  ‘She ran away,’ Owen said.

  Matthew dropped his eyes, made an odd sound in the back of his throat, grabbed his hat off his head, and fanned his red face. ‘Dear me, she bolted, eh? Oh dear.’ He sighed, looked up at Owen. ‘Can’t say as I’m surprised. Never did understand what turned that hot little filly into a nun – except Jason Miller’s bald pate and hairy moles.’ Matthew threw back his head and laughed, but it was a nervous laugh, not sincere. He quickly grew serious and invited them inside. ‘Sounds to me like a story that requires fortifying. Come within. Welcome to Calvary House, as Joanna’s mother used to call it.’

  A serving girl hurried off to bring refreshments as Matthew showed them through a high-ceilinged great hall into a smaller room with a lancet window looking out towards the garden Matthew had been tending. A writing table sat by the window to catch the southern light, a basket of scrolls beside it on the plank floor. A brazier behind the writing chair would warm the room in most weather, though the air coming in the room today was mild and welcome. Matthew looked round, realised he had seating only for two, and hurried away with apologies to get a third.

  Louth took the chair by the writing table, turning it to face into the room. He sat down. ‘He’s full of smiles for a widower.’

  Owen walked over to the window to look at the garden. ‘Perhaps Calverley’s cheerfulness is a mask to cover his true feelings. People –’ He stopped as footsteps approached.

  A procession entered the room. One man deposited a small table near the window, a second set a tray of bottles and cups on the table and the woman who had greeted them at the door set down a tray of bread, cheese, and apples. A third man lugged in an ornately carved chair, placing it to complete a triangle with the other chairs in the room. Matthew Calverley entered last with a small stool the right height for a footrest.

  After the servants had departed, Matthew settled himself in the ornate chair, propping his feet on the footrest. When he had adjusted the two items to his satisfaction, he rose and poured himself a mazer of ale from a pitcher. ‘Come, help yourselves, gentlemen. Ale, wine, mead. Whatever is your pleasure.’ He had changed into an elegantly patterned gown and matching shoes with pointed toes.

  Owen poured himself a cup of ale, tasted it and held the cup up to toast his host. ‘A fine brew. Second only to Tom Merchet’s at the York Tavern.’

  Matthew nodded, busy settling back in his chair. Louth rose and poured himself some wine, tasted it, smiled at the cup. He, too, evidently surprised by the quality.

  But then it was a substantial house, well situated, large, with adequate servants. Not as modern a house as another wool merchant’s Owen had visited in the past year, but quite impressive. The only thing truly surprising was the mood of the household. It did not feel like a house in mourning.

  Perhaps the innkeeper had been having fun with them, feeding them a pack of lies.

  ‘It might be advisable to include Mistress Calverley in this discussion,’ Owen suggested.

  ‘Mistress? The mistress of this house is but a child, gentlemen.’ He laughed at their confusion. ‘My daughter, Sarasina, is mistress now.’

  ‘Your wife is dead, Master Calverley?’

  ‘Dead?’ The pig eyes moved up to the ceiling, rested there, moving side to side. ‘Well, I cannot say for certain, Master Archer. But she has been gone some time.’ He lowered his gaze to Owen’s single eye. ‘So what has Joanna done to warrant your interest?’

  Hiding his confusion as best he could, Owen said, ‘Your daughter ran away from the convent just before midsummer last year. Took a relic from the convent to buy help in her disappearance.’

  Matthew shook his head. ‘She was ever difficult, was Joanna. But to steal a relic …’ He took a long drink. ‘And what happened? They caught her at it?’ He shook his head. ‘But no, not a year ago. You would not be here telling me …’

  ‘She arranged for a false funeral, then disappeared for almost a year.’ Owen watched Matthew’s expressive face, saw there a mixture of admiration and distress.

  ‘I suppose Anne was informed and neglected to tell me.’ Matthew suddenly stiffened, his eyes troubled. ‘If the Reverend Mother sent a messenger I did not see – Could that be what happened? Anne feared she had some part in Joanna’s death?’

  Louth shook his head. ‘The Reverend Mother said she did not inform your family – that you had given instructions that Joanna was never to be mentioned.’

  Matthew closed his eyes a moment, breathed deeply. ‘Anne’s instructions, not mine.’ He looked up at Owen. ‘I am glad it was not that. So. Then what happened?’

  ‘Last month Joanna suddenly appeared in Beverley, at the house of a man called Will Longford. She sought the relic, hoping to return it to St Clement’s and be accepted back herself.’

  ‘Will Longford?’ Matthew turned his head to the side, as if listening to an invisible person beside him.

  Owen leaned forward, hopeful. ‘The man from whose house Joanna staged her funeral. Do you know the name?’

  Matthew turned back to Owen, nodding slowly. ‘I believe I do. Yes. I do. And as was ever the case with Joanna, her trouble points back to Hugh.’

  ‘Her brother?’

  Matthew dropped his head, as if deep in thought, then lifted it up with a wary look. ‘But why exactly are you here?’

  ‘Since your daughter’s return, Longford’s maidservant has been murdered and the corpse of Longford’s cook has been discovered in the grave dug for your daughter’s false burial. Both deaths were violent.’

  Matthew looked alarmed. ‘God help us! You don’t think Joanna murdered them?’

  ‘No. But the fact that Joanna put such effort into getting away from the priory only to ask to be accepted back a year later is passing strange. We want to know just what her arrangement was with Longford.’

  ‘This Will Longford is no help?’

  ‘He is missing.’

  Matthew crossed himself. ‘What has Joanna got into?’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘She will not talk?’

  Owen shrugged. ‘Will not talk or cannot remember, it is difficult to tell.’

  Matthew nodded again. ‘With Joanna that can be impossible. As with her mother.’ He was quiet a moment, then suddenly slapped his thighs, looked at each of his guests. ‘So you wish me to take Joanna back, is that it?’

  The s
uggestion surprised Owen. ‘No. Though perhaps it will come to that.’

  Matthew gave a big sigh. ‘I would rather it did not come to that, Master Archer. Not that I don’t love the girl, but it has lightened the burden of my advancing age to have those three gone. I had forgotten how quiet and sweet life could be.’

  Owen and Louth exchanged a look. ‘Three, Master Calverley?’ Louth said.

  ‘Anne and her little demons, Joanna and Hugh. They were purely of Anne’s blood, gentlemen, as Edith and Frank are purely of mine. Sarasina –’ he shrugged ‘ – so far she has her mother’s beauty but a placid spirit. God has been merciful.’ Matthew crossed himself again.

  Owen found Matthew Calverley’s reactions puzzling. He wished to slow down and study the man, but he must carry on while the man was in a good humour. ‘I know this must be painful to you, Master Calverley, but what exactly happened to Mistress Calverley?’

  Matthew got up, poured more ale, held onto the little table while he gulped down a considerable amount, topped his mazer, and returned to his seat. ‘What exactly. Well, I cannot exactly say. She walked away one morning, a cold, dark day. When she had been gone too long for such cold, I went looking.’ He shrugged. ‘I never found her. She never returned.’

  Owen glanced out of the window, remembering the river.

  Matthew caught the look. ‘You are thinking she walked into the river.’ He frowned, nodded. ‘Her cloak lay not far from the riverbank, hanging on a branch, as if she had put it there to keep it out of the mud.’ Matthew was silent a moment, staring down at his feet. Then he sighed, looked back at Owen with a forced smile. ‘But I prefer to think she ran off with someone who shares her strangeness. You see, Joanna and Hugh shared their strangeness, and they were content in each other’s company.’

  That brief moment of silence, then the forced smile; at last Owen felt he had glimpsed Matthew’s suffering. Deep, kept down with a strong will. Might the drowning story have been told to stop gossip? ‘Was your wife sad that Joanna and Hugh had grown up and left her?’

  Matthew rolled his eyes. ‘Far from it. By then Anne wanted nothing to do with either of them. She said –’ An odd, dark look came over the round face, then passed. ‘No matter what she said. Anne saw the world sideways and upside-down. But I tell you, life has been quiet since the moon-mad Boulains have been out of the house.’

  ‘You have never searched the river?’

  Matthew closed his eyes. ‘She was a beautiful woman, Master Archer. And the madness – it can be captivating, I tell you. The faraway look in the eyes, the half-smile.’ He shook his head. ‘She had that look on that cold, grey morning. So beautiful she was.’ Tears crept from the closed lids. ‘I wish to remember her that way. It would –’ His voice broke. He wiped his cheeks with his sleeves. ‘I do not want to know.’

  Owen rose and poured himself more ale, stared out of the window, working to put down the image – of Lucie, bloated, lifeless – that wanted to darken his mind. He had seen the bodies of the drowned. He understood why Matthew did not wish to see his wife so.

  Louth’s voice broke him out of his reverie. ‘Where is your son Hugh, Master Calverley?’

  Owen returned to his seat.

  Matthew Calverley brightened at the change in subject. ‘Hugh is at Scarborough Castle, working for the King’s stewards there, the Percies. You see, that’s where Will Longford comes in. Anne meant Hugh for the Church, but that was never right for him. He wanted to fight.’ Matthew shrugged. ‘Truth be told, he wanted to kill. Which did not sound like a vocation to the Church to me. It’s the sort of mismatch that creates trouble. And Hugh was already trouble enough. So, being a father who would rather meet up with his children in Heaven some day, I reminded the Percies of a favour they owed me.’

  ‘What sort of favour?’ Louth asked.

  Owen could see that his companion was very alert now.

  Matthew began to take another drink, but put the tankard down on the floor beside his footstool instead. Owen was glad of it. Their host’s nose was already red from the ale. He did not want the man to get fuzzy headed and fall asleep before they had learned what they could from him.

  ‘I offered to forget the balance of a loan I’d made them if they took Hugh into their service. They liked the terms, set him a task. They’d obtained a seal carried by a Frenchman whose ship went down in the North Sea. The Frenchman had drowned, but his squire traded the seal and information for a warmer cell in the castle dungeon. He told the Percies that his master’s destination was Beverley, though he did not know for what purpose.’

  Louth rose, poured himself more wine, returned to his seat. ‘What was this seal?’

  ‘St Sebastian. The martyr with all the arrows stuck in him.’

  Owen nodded. ‘Patron saint of archers.’

  Matthew went to the table and cut some bread, nibbling on it as he stood a moment, gazing out of the window.

  ‘Forgive us for taking you away from your garden on such a day,’ Owen said.

  Matthew flicked his free hand up, palm forward. ‘Do not apologise. In truth, I meander in my explanations. You must herd me to the gate, gentlemen, or you shall be here at Calvary till Doomsday.’

  Owen accepted the challenge. ‘What did the seal have to do with Longford?’

  ‘There were reports that Longford was frequently in Scarborough, though no one knew where he stayed. The Percies believed he was still working with du Guesclin.’

  ‘So what was Hugh’s task?’

  Matthew put some cheese on the bread. ‘Hugh was to present the seal to Will Longford, tell him of the shipwreck, say he’d tried to save the envoy, who had paid him well to deliver the seal to Longford and had enticed him further with the promise that Longford would recommend him to one of the better captains in the Free Companies.’ Matthew bit off a mouthful of bread, chewed thoughtfully.

  ‘They hoped Longford would be foolish enough to admit a connection with du Guesclin?’ Owen asked.

  ‘Some such. One of the younger Percies was in the town, awaiting a signal from Hugh.’ Matthew popped the rest of the bread and cheese into his mouth.

  Louth snorted. ‘An impossible assignment.’

  Matthew returned to his seat, and took up his mazer, drinking deeply. ‘Though he’s quite an actor, Hugh failed. Longford not only didn’t slip up, he saw through him, Hugh could tell, and he got worried about Joanna – she was with him. He bundled Joanna off to her aunt at once.’

  ‘Why was she with him at Longford’s?’

  ‘He was escorting her to my sister Winifred, near Hull – for instruction in the wifely arts, Anne was no good as a teacher. He should have gone first to Winifred, but Joanna begged to see Beverley.’

  ‘How did Hugh lose the seal?’ Owen asked.

  Matthew shook his head. ‘The fool left it at Longford’s while he took Joanna to my sister’s house. When Hugh returned, Longford had disappeared, and the seal with him. Nothing to prove, no trail to follow.’

  ‘Was Joanna privy to Hugh’s purpose?’

  ‘Nay. We had agreed he must not tell her the truth. It could be dangerous for her, she would be near Beverley. As far as she knew, he was supposed to escort her to Winifred’s, then go south to Oxford. He was to confide to her that his meeting with Longford was a secret plan to get some money and strike out on his own and so escape the Church.’ Matthew frowned, scratched his cheek. ‘You say she stole a relic with which to trade? And went to Longford?’

  Owen nodded.

  ‘Poor little chit. She believed his story. He told her he planned to sell Longford a stolen relic – the arm of St Hardulph of Breedon, our relic from the parish. Hugh was always frightening her with tales of St Hardulph’s bones, saying they did not rest easy, that Hardulph missed his home. Once, when he and Joanna found an arm on the riverbank, Hugh told her it was the arm of St Hardulph, trying to get home to Breedon. For weeks Joanna begged us to send the saint back home.’

  Louth chuckled. ‘A wondrous spinner of ta
les, your Hugh.’

  Matthew sighed, stared into his mazer. ‘One of the Boulain gifts. But it is a cursed gift. They forget now and then what they made up and what is real.’

  ‘She seems confused at present about a blue shawl she wears. She says it is Our Lady’s mantle.’

  Matthew shook his head. ‘You see? And after living with her day in and day out saying it is, then it isn’t, it is, then it isn’t, you would not know what was true about it.’

  ‘So Hugh told Joanna he was taking St Hardulph to Longford?’

  ‘Yes. But they were to pretend it was St Sebastian’s arm, which would fetch far more money than St Hardulph’s. That was how Hugh twisted it round so he could say St Sebastian at the door.’

  Owen thought it unnecessarily complicated. ‘And she believed it?’

  ‘How else did she get the idea to try it herself? And it was a believable story. He would use the money to outfit himself as a soldier.’ Matthew rubbed his forehead. ‘You must understand. They played together, wove these tales, and I swear they believed half of them. When they were young, their mother would say it was all in fun, she had played so as a child, it was good to dream while young. But as they got older she did not think it so innocent.’ He frowned, clutched the mazer, drained it.

  ‘How did the Percies feel about Hugh’s failure?’

  ‘It was the Percies who wrote to me and told me the sad story. Hugh’s poor judgement had cost them the seal; they might have put it to good use sending du Guesclin false reports. But they took Hugh on, said he had proved his courage and the mistake would make him try that much harder.’

  ‘Have you seen Hugh recently?’

  Matthew shook his head. ‘Not since he and Joanna went to Beverley.’

  ‘How long ago was that?’

  Matthew closed his eyes, tapped a finger on the arm of his chair, muttered to himself. ‘Seven years, there-abouts. Joanna was but thirteen.’ He shook his head. ‘Fool thing to betroth her to Jason Miller. I should have known such a dreamy child expected a prince, not an old merchant who wanted a nursemaid for his daughters.’

  ‘Tell us about that.’