A Choir of Crows

by Candace Robb

  Jasper was crouched down to little Mair, who giggled as a kitten she cradled in her arms twisted her head to see who had entered the room, stretching out a paw to Lucie as if in greeting.

  ‘I turned around and she was in the workroom doorway, batting at the beads,’ said Jasper. Instead of a door, the rooms were separated by strings of beads.

  ‘I set her back there and forgot.’ Bess bent to scoop her up. ‘Tut now, Mair,’ she said as the little girl screwed up her face and began to cry. ‘She is a gift for the apothecary’s children.’

  ‘You brought us a kitten?’ Lucie asked. ‘Why?’ In faith, her heart was already melting at the way the kitten touched Jasper’s face and purred. She reminded her of Melisende, the cat who had comforted her during her first husband’s long illness. Gray, brown, white, she was a little beauty.

  ‘She rushed into the kitchen this morning when I opened the door and would not be shooed away. I cannot have animals underfoot in our busy kitchen, and certainly not in the bedchambers. Men in their cups are not to be trusted with anything. I thought your little ones would like her. She seems a gentle thing, talkative and silly. She will make Gwen laugh.’ Bess searched Lucie’s face.

  ‘She will. Bless you, Bess.’ Lucie hugged her friend. ‘Come with me to present her to the children?’

  ‘I have been out too long as it is.’ Bess hugged her back and whispered, ‘Find a new situation for Marian, I pray you.’

  ‘We mean to take her to St Clement’s. I will explain another time.’

  ‘Good.’ Bess hurried out through the workshop.

  ‘You will keep her, Ma?’ Jasper asked.

  ‘Do you approve?’

  ‘We’ve needed a cat ever since Crowder died.’ Ambrose and Martin had entrusted the ginger cat to Jasper when they fled York years earlier. Jasper had been devastated to wake one morning to find the cat lifeless beside him, old age having claimed him after a long, pampered life. He stood with shoulders slumped, remembering.

  ‘Shall I see to the shop and you can take her to them?’ Lucie asked.

  ‘Could I?’

  ‘Be off with you. Eat something as well. You might ask Alisoun to invite Marian to see the kitten. She has had a difficult day.’

  ‘I heard a ruckus in the garden.’

  Telling him briefly what had happened, Lucie smiled to see the admiration in Jasper’s eyes. ‘There is much more to tell. About Marian. We know her story. She can be trusted.’

  ‘I am glad of that.’

  ‘Now go!’ Lucie turned to greet a customer.

  Four customers served, and she was helping the last in line, Cass, a young midwife, explaining the differences between two powders for soothing toothaches, when the woman glanced up and said, ‘Your apprentice needs to speak with you. See to him. I am in no hurry.’ The woman’s eyes were on Jasper, not Lucie, as she smiled.

  He was a handsome young man. ‘I will be but a moment,’ said Lucie, slipping through the beaded curtain, her amusement turning to alarm as she saw Jasper’s distress. ‘What is it? One of the children?’

  ‘Marian is gone.’

  ‘What?’

  He explained that while he was introducing the children to the kitten, whom Gwen immediately named Ariel, Alisoun had gone to invite Marian, as Lucie had suggested. She was not there. Nor were her cloak and boots.

  Lucie closed her eyes, trying to think where to search. Her tale told, why would Marian flee? What did she fear now? ‘I must talk to Bess. She might have noticed something.’

  ‘I will see to Mistress Cass.’

  ‘I am sorry you had so little time. Did you eat?’

  ‘Go!’

  She found Bess plumping cushions in the single guest room. ‘I see to them myself for lodgers with fat purses. Cannot be— What is it? Did the kitten escape?’

  ‘No, our houseguest. Can you recall anything about the moment she chose to leave you alone with the children?’

  ‘She had completed the stitchwork you had given her, and I thought that was why she wished to lie down. I did not think to attend her. And the children …’

  ‘You could not know, Bess.’

  ‘What were we about? Ah, it was Hugh. He talked about a drum George Hempe permitted him to beat at his house. How he hoped to go again. Marian asked where the bailiff lived and Hugh was so proud to know. A few houses afore Christchurch, he said. Before that, we were speaking of Brother Michaelo. Gwen said that he wrote a most beautiful script, and Marian said that he would have learned that at the abbey. Your daughter informed her that as long as she has been alive he has not lived in an abbey, that he was secretary to archbishops and archdeacons, and that is where he learned to write.’

  ‘Bless you, Bess.’ Lucie hugged her friend and hurried off. George Hempe’s home seemed most likely. Marian sought to speak with Ambrose. As with her daughter, Lucie needed to be warier about speaking anywhere near Marian. Returning to the house for her cloak, she told Kate where she was headed, in case Owen returned before she did.

  On Stonegate she responded to greetings and called out a few of her own so as not to call attention to herself by seeming preoccupied or in a hurry. On Low Petergate she muttered a curse as the ever-ailing pastor of Christchurch approached. If he delayed her with his usual litany of complaints she feared she might snap at him. But he merely bobbed his head with a short greeting and an apology for being in a rush. God be thanked. And there was the door to the Hempe home. Her knock was quickly answered by a flustered Lotta.

  ‘Are you here after that woman? Your guest?’

  A moment of relief. ‘Yes. Is she here?’

  Lotta drew Lucie in, shut the door. ‘No. But I believe I know where she has gone, the foolish child. I passed her at the crossing on Stonegate heading toward the minster gate. I thought her a peddler at first, or beggar, with the torn and stained cloak too short to cover her gown. But there was something about her. I watched her pass through the gate and hurried home to ask Ambrose why she might be about.’

  Lucie had not noticed Ambrose sitting by the fire. He joined them now, his face folded in concern.

  ‘Perhaps the minster? She might have lost something there?’ he said.

  ‘Owen already searched and confronted her with what she had lost there,’ said Lucie. Archbishops and archdeacons, Gwen had said. ‘I think she might be seeking Dom Jehannes.’

  Lotta sighed. ‘You should know, Sir John Neville’s party has arrived in the city. They will be occupying the palace in the minster yard. It is dangerous for her there.’

  ‘So soon?’ Lucie felt her heart racing.

  ‘Let me accompany you,’ said Ambrose. Lucie and Lotta both protested the idea, but he argued that he was responsible for bringing Marian to York. ‘If she is causing trouble, I want to help.’

  ‘You have no need to make amends,’ said Lucie. She told them a little of what they had learned about the evening in the minster, enough to explain why Marian had been there, and that she had betrayed him.

  Ambrose shrugged it off. ‘I care not whether she betrayed me. You are the ones I want to help. With my hair shorn and colored, who will recognize me?’

  ‘And how would you help?’ Lucie asked, though a possibility occurred to her. ‘Is Martin Wirthir in the city?’

  Ambrose looked pained. ‘Well you might wonder. I have as well, ever since safely crossing from Calais. My sudden decision to leave the court and return to the country I had seemingly abandoned … Those who had spoken so freely in my presence, would they not be alarmed? I felt almost certain I would be followed, at least for a time. Or worse. That I would not reach Dover. One hears tales. To drown on the crossing is a common way to eliminate the inconvenient.’

  ‘Yet you left,’ said Lotta.

  ‘No one deserves to suffer as Prince Edward is suffering. He is at the mercy of treacherous physicians and godless nobles who laugh at his pain, who applaud his humiliation. I want to believe that my empty years in that court will benefit the realm. That God meant
me to be there to learn this.’ Ambrose seemed alight, as when he performed. This appeared no artifice, but a passion that arose from deep within him.

  ‘I pray Owen may convince the prince’s envoys to hear you out and help you carry out your mission,’ she said. ‘But what of Martin Wirthir?’

  ‘Martin.’ A whisper. ‘I felt his protection throughout my journey. It gave me the courage to continue. But he has not revealed himself to me.’

  ‘Someone else?’

  ‘It is possible. Denis, a friend from court. A close friend. A man much like Martin, but until now loyal to King Charles. He divined my reason for leaving and encouraged me.’ Ambrose shrugged at Lucie’s frown. ‘I fail in subtlety, I know. He might have betrayed me. But I think not. And if he is here in the city he might have gathered information for me while I have been off the streets.’

  ‘Do you believe he would help us?’ asked Lotta.

  ‘If he sees that I walk freely with Dame Lucie, I believe so.’

  ‘Your hair? Will he know you looking like that?’ asked Lucie.

  ‘If he is here, he doubtless followed the captain and your husband from the riverbank yesterday.’

  So many ifs. It was a risk, either way. But with the Nevilles so close, Owen would be pressed to resolve the murder quickly to avert the risk that they, or others, would falsely name someone convenient to them, whose death would serve as a warning. An innocent would suffer. And the murderer would still be free.

  ‘No gloves, no singing,’ Lucie warned.

  Ambrose hurried to fetch his cloak, but Lotta stopped him, offering one of her husband’s cloaks. ‘You must not walk out in clothes they will know.’

  Glancing up from his work, Brother Michaelo discovered goodwife Anna hovering in the doorway of his chamber. He must remember to close the door while he worked. When the archdeacon was out the cook seemed unable to pass an hour without a question for Michaelo.

  ‘A woman to see you,’ said Anna. ‘I think she is the one you rescued in the minster. Pale hair and eyes, tall, skinny. She calls herself Dame Marian.’

  ‘Alone?’

  A nod.

  Had she run away? Michaelo took a deep breath.

  ‘May God watch over us,’ said Anna. ‘The Nevilles are at the palace in the minster yard. All the yard is talking about it. So many servants and armed men. Trouble will come of it.’

  Two pieces of unwelcome news. ‘I know you are a busy woman, goodwife Anna. But might you ask your husband to watch for Captain Archer, tell him who is here, and what you’ve told me about the Nevilles?’ Her husband was a stonemason working on the minster.

  ‘Now?’

  ‘I would be most grateful.’

  A momentary twinkle in her eye. ‘I might take him some of the pork pie, still warm.’

  ‘Bless you.’

  ‘What about the woman?’

  ‘Invite her to sit by the fire. Tell her I will join her there.’

  ‘Wine?’

  ‘Yes.’

  With a sniff, the goodwife flounced away. A woman as changeable as a Yorkshire sky, glowering one moment, shining brightly the next. He never understood how he had offended or pleased. At times he felt his mere presence in this house irritated her, though she told him often that he was good for the archdeacon. In what way, he could not imagine. He sanded the letter he had been copying and covered his work against prying eyes. With a prayer for patience, he set off for the hall.

  Dame Marian glanced up and then stood, asking Michaelo when Dom Jehannes might return, she had a favor to ask.

  ‘Does Captain Archer know you are here?’ Michaelo asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Dame Lucie?’

  ‘No.’

  He’d thought not. Pray God the captain passed near the stonemasons’ lodge, and soon.

  Already hatted and cloaked, the goodwife bustled in with a flagon of wine and two cups, set them down with a nod, and hastened out the door.

  ‘Have I offended her?’ asked Marian.

  ‘More to the point, I have no doubt you have offended the captain and Dame Lucie, who mean only to protect you.’

  ‘I know how much I owe them,’ said Marian. ‘My purpose is to protect them. Twice today they suffered intruders because of me. I hope to convince Dom Jehannes to escort me to St Clement’s himself, without endangering Dame Lucie.’

  ‘Without her, I am not certain the prioress will take you in. Dame Lucie knows Prioress Isabel, and how to persuade her to take such a risk. But come, have some wine while you tell me about these intruders. Then I must think what to do.’

  As she walked with Ambrose, Lucie related what had happened with Gabriel, his tale, and Marian’s.

  ‘Deus juva me,’ Ambrose said, crossing himself. ‘I shudder to think how, but for her crying out, I might have abandoned her.’

  ‘But you did not,’ said Lucie.

  ‘No. I brought the trouble to your door. I am sorry.’

  She paused inside the minster gate, drew him toward a quiet spot where she might watch those passing yet not be overheard. ‘Why did you not tell Owen about the prayer book?’

  Ambrose looked aggrieved. ‘Forgive me. But I felt it was for her to tell you, if she trusted you to know of it.’

  Misplaced courtesy. ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘I had noticed a pack that Tucker took with him on occasion, careful to hide it beneath his cloak. For a man whose wife complained of their ability to feed two more mouths I wondered what he shielded with such care. When the prayer book disappeared I feared I had lodged us with a thief. When next he left with the pack I followed him – to Ronan the vicar’s lodging. I cannot be certain the bag was empty when he left Ronan’s, but I heard rumors about the vicar collecting tribute for the new archbishop that included fines for transgressions that should be the concern of a summoner. And as Tucker went there …’ He made a face as if uncertain that his reasoning made sense, now that he heard himself speak it aloud. ‘I thought it worth asking Ronan. Putting it as a request to advise me who in the Bedern might be receiving such items.’

  ‘That is why you met him in the minster?’

  ‘Yes. I sent word asking him to meet me there. I found him little changed in face – older, but still the long nose, deep-set eyes, yet far less trustful in manner. Tucker had warned me that there had been much gossip about my sudden disappearance years ago. If Ronan knew where I had been, he might also think me a spy for King Charles. But he heard me out, and offered to make inquiries. I was to call on him in the morning. It was he who suggested we exchange cloaks, for I might not wish to call attention to myself. I sensed it a false charity, that he recognized its value and intended it as payment. I was not unaware that he might be mistaken for me, yet I did not warn him. I am responsible for his death.’

  ‘How can you be certain?’ Lucie asked.

  ‘Why else would he have been attacked that night? I know from George Hempe that he was wearing my cloak and that my hat was found beside his body. Swathed in my clothes, with just the snow to illuminate the night, he would have been mistaken for me. Can you suggest how that would not be so?’

  The attacker knew of the exchange? She did not think it likely.

  ‘I pray you forgive me for not speaking of this earlier,’ said Ambrose.

  ‘You risked your mission, pursuing Ronan,’ Lucie said.

  ‘I felt responsible for trusting Tucker.’

  She had learned what she needed from him. ‘Come. I need to know if Marian is with Jehannes.’

  ‘Dame Lucie—’ Ambrose touched her arm they resumed walking. ‘I believe I just saw Carl, who led the company of players. You said Marian thought one of them might be in the minster. Something about how he kept to the shadows close to the buildings. Why would he behave so?’

  ‘I will tell Owen,’ she said. They had reached the archdeacon’s house. ‘Did you sense your protector?’

  ‘No.’

  She touched his shoulder, assuring him she appreciated his intent
ion.

  Brother Michaelo answered the knock. ‘Dame Lucie!’ She read his relief in voice and odd smile. ‘I can guess what brings you here.’ He eyed her dark-haired companion. ‘And this man?’

  ‘He is with me,’ said Lucie. ‘Might we come in?’

  Michaelo stepped back and shut the door as soon as they both passed through.

  With a mixture of relief and anger Lucie watched Marian rise from a chair by the fire and touch her heart.

  As he took Lucie’s cloak Michaelo must have noticed the heat in her eyes. ‘Before you say anything you might permit her to explain herself. She thought to protect you and your family,’ he said quietly.

  Marian was staring at the dark-haired newcomer. ‘Master Ambrose?’

  ‘Of course,’ Michaelo murmured, ‘his hands. The musician.’ He bowed to Lucie. ‘I will bring wine.’

  Lucie thanked him and approached Marian. ‘I hoped you knew you could trust us.’

  ‘I do. You have been so kind to me I want to protect you,’ said Marian. ‘The intruders today, the two at the shop, and Gabriel. I hoped to convince Dom Jehannes to take me to St Clement’s Priory today. So that I might no longer attract danger to you and the children. I could not bear it if any of you suffered for my transgressions.’

  Whether or not she had committed any transgressions seemed beside the point at present. ‘With Neville’s men searching the city for you and Ambrose how were we to know you had walked out of your own accord?’ asked Lucie.

  ‘They would not know me. They thought me a young man.’

  ‘We speak of the Nevilles. Sir John arrived this very day, the one who sent men to silence you and Ambrose, believing the two of you to be spies. His men have been scouring the city for information. By now he will know full well you are not what you seemed. And all who have sheltered you are in danger.’

  A flicker of uncertainty in Marian’s eyes. Ambrose understood well enough, glancing toward the window with unease.

  ‘Would it not be safer for everyone if I went at once to the priory?’ asked Marian.

  ‘My husband advised us to wait until he has a plan in place for your protection. Our protection. It is a long way, and there are strangers abroad in the city. Possibly even the players with whom you traveled. You may indeed have seen Paul in the minster. Ambrose believes he just saw Carl.’