When they finally reached the building and the doors opened, Edgar could feel trickles of sweat running down his back. They were shown into a small chamber with a fire burning low in a stone fireplace and wax candles burning on a shelf. Brother Alcuin bade them be seated, helping Bess onto her chair, and asked a servant to bring wine. “I shall find the Archdeacon for you,” he said. “I hope you need not wait long.”
When he had left the room, Bess leaned forward and patted Edgar on his knee. “I’ll have her out of here in no time at all,” she said. “Now, just to make certain, what time did you leave the city that night?”
Edgar swallowed, trying to get enough moisture in his mouth to speak. “At Compline, just as the gates closed,” he stammered. “Was she not with you till then?”
“Aye, of course she were,” said Bess with a wink and a sly smile. She nodded once to herself. “She were with me till almost Compline.”
Edgar looked at her warily. Twas not a question he had expected, and he wondered if she were simply so old she could not remember or if she were willing to lie for Magda’s sake. He prayed it was the first, for if Bess lied and the Archdeacon discovered it.... He did not finish the thought. Thomas, he noticed, was staring at Bess with furrowed brows, and he did not doubt the lad had heard the exchange and seen that sly wink.
The door opened and Edgar’s throat tightened, but twas only the servant with the wine. His hand shook as he took the cup, and he held it in both hands, not daring to bring it to his lips lest he spill it and end up facing the Archdeacon smelling like a drunkard. Bess took a hearty swallow and belched softly. Thomas had turned his gaze to the fire. Edgar set the wine cup on a low table and waited.
After almost two hours the door opened again. The flagon of wine the servant had left was long empty, the candles had burned to stubs, and Bess was half-asleep on her chair. Edgar stood as Thomas helped Bess to her feet. Brother Alcuin and Archdeacon Godfrey entered, followed by the clerk with the wax tablet. Godfrey looked around the small chamber and called for fresh candles. The clerk hurried out as Bess planted her stick on the floorboards in front of the Archdeacon, her head twisted upward to look at his face.
“You have imprisoned a young woman wrongfully, Master Archdeacon,” she said, her voice rasping. “I am here to testify that Mistress Magda were with me the night of the killing.”
Godfrey looked down at her, seeming amused at the form of address she had chosen. “Who might you be, Mistress?” he asked.
“I am Bess Gammer, owner of the Green Leaf tavern on Bar Lane,” answered Bess, sticking her chin out. “Magda came into my tavern for a sup of ale, and we got talking about gardens and the time just flew by. I were always a gardener, tis why the tavern has its name. She were asking about seeds and cuttings for the herbs she lacks, and I telling her how to care for them proper so she wouldn’t waste her coin on plants would die before she had the use of them. Tis never easy to know what to do with an unfamiliar herb.”
As she rambled on, Edgar’s agitation grew. Twas certain her chatter would irritate such a great man. When he could listen no longer, he burst out, “Tell him when she left you!”
Bess twisted around to glare at him, then turned her gaze back to the Archdeacon. “Twere a bit afore the bells rang for Compline when she left, begging your pardon for this young man’s rudeness.”
Godfrey laughed. “Sit down, Mother Gammer, and rest yourself from your speech. We shall find some more wine to reward you.” His eyes moved to Thomas, then to Edgar. “Where is Master Cordwainer?” he asked.
“He is at the gatehouse, your Grace,” said Thomas. “You told him not to come unless summoned.”
“So I did,” replied Godfrey, chuckling again. He sobered and asked them all to be seated as the clerk returned with a candle in each hand. After waiting for the candles to be placed in their holders and the clerk to be seated with his tablet, Godfrey sat in a chair by the door with Alcuin standing in the doorway behind him. He turned to Edgar. “You are, I presume, Master Westcote,” he said.
“Aye, I am, your Grace,” replied Edgar.
“Let us start from the beginning,” said Godfrey. “Tell me why you and your wife came to York and what you did here. I remind you that your words are being recorded and shall be regarded as sworn testimony.”
Edgar took a deep breath and began. The Archdeacon listened closely, but did not interrupt or question him. When he had finished with a description of searching the taverns with Thomas, Godfrey nodded. “So you found out where Sir John supped that night, did you? Good.” He glanced at the clerk, who nodded, setting his stylus on top of his tablet.
“Now, Master Westcote,” said Godfrey. “You say the guard at Micklegate Bar will swear that both you and your wife left the city at Compline, and that your neighbors were with you until you entered the city by Micklegate Bar the next morning.”
“Aye,” said Edgar. “I have talked to the guard, and he will swear.”
“And you, Mistress Gammer, swear that Magda Westcote was with you that evening until Compline?”
“Aye, your Grace,” said Bess, who had listened to Edgar’s narration with obvious interest and no trace of her earlier sleepiness. “Twas near to Compline when she left, saying she must meet her husband.”
Godfrey stared into the fire, a frown creasing his face. Edgar watched, holding his breath. Finally, Godfrey spoke. “Then I have no choice but to declare Magda Westcote free to go with her husband wherever they wish.”
Edgar gasped. “Thank you, your Grace,” he stammered. Bess gave him a triumphant smile as Brother Alcuin, with a slight bow to the Archdeacon, left the room.
Godfrey turned to Thomas. “Tell your Master he is summoned tomorrow at Terce for an interview with Lady Marie Forsythe. Apparently, Sir Humphrey and his wife have been in York for the past week, unaware of the Talbots’ deaths.” He rose, and the others followed suit. Sketching a cross in the air as blessing, he turned and left the chamber, followed by his clerk. Within moments, Magda burst into the room, throwing herself into Edgar’s arms as Brother Alcuin stood smiling behind her. Bess watched them with sparkling eyes, then turned to Thomas.
“I’m tired,” she said. “Take me home.”
Chapter 14
York, April 1273
Alf and Cordwainer had long exhausted their store of bawdy stories and Cordwainer was tapping his stick on the cobbles with growing irritation. The wind once again howled down the narrow streets, lifting the skirts of his gown and sending cold fingers up his spine. His companions had been gone for close to an hour and his hip hurt. Seeing his discomfort, Alf suggested he sit in the cart that still waited inside the gate, but Cordwainer snorted and declined. He considered walking up the path to see for himself what was taking so long. Nay, twould give the Archdeacon too much satisfaction. Finally, he looked at Alf and said, “Tell Thomas I’ve gone to Adam’s shop on Stonegate to wait for him.” With a wave of his stick, he set off, thankful the wind was at his back.
When he entered the shop, the bell over the door rang and Jankyn greeted him with a cheery smile. “God give you good day, Master Cordwainer. I’m afraid Master Adam will not be in today – he’s up outside Bootham Bar.”
“Tis no matter,” said Cordwainer, wiping his hand on his gown before fingering a length of dark brown velvet. “I thought I’d stop in out of the wind to see if he’d found a tapestry for me yet.”
“Aye,” said Jankyn, “we’ve a tapestry found in the old storeroom, but Master Adam were not certain twould be to your liking.”
“Bring it out,” said Cordwainer, glancing up in surprise. “I’ll take a look.”
Jankyn pushed aside the lace he’d been arranging for display and disappeared behind the striped curtain into the workroom. Cordwainer heard something crash to the floor, followed by a low curse. Jankyn emerged with one end of a rolled tapestry in his arms, which he hefted onto the counter. “Hold that, Master,” he said to Cordwainer, bending to lift the other end up and push it along the
counter until it was centered, its two ends brushing into the shelves on the walls.
“Careful,” said Cordwainer as Jankyn began to unroll the heavy wool. He held his breath until the displays were safe, then edged back toward the door as the unrolled portion lapped at his feet. “Tis far enough.” He gazed down at the image enclosed within a dark russet border. A haloed knight stood in a field of tall grasses, his cruciform lance thrust into the gaping mouth of a serpentine creature with small, bat-like wings. Blood spurted under the knight’s impassive gaze as the serpent’s eyes rolled in agony.
“Nay,” said Cordwainer, shaking his head. “Definitely not.”
“Are you certain?” asked Jankyn, puffing from his endeavors. “I like it. Tis Saint Michael and the dragon.”
“I can see that,” replied Cordwainer. “Nay. Twould put me off my food, looking at a dead snake as I ate.”
Jankyn sighed and knelt to roll up the tapestry, rolling and unrolling again as he struggled to make the ends straight. Cordwainer snorted and put his stick on the floor to kneel beside him. Together they managed to roll the heavy wool into a long cylinder, knocking several lengths of velvet from the shelves into the rushes in the process. Jankyn hefted the tapestry onto his shoulder and staggered through the striped curtain as Cordwainer stooped to pick up the velvet and brush away the rushes clinging to the fabric. The bell rang, and a woman in a heavy silk cloak trimmed with fur entered, giving him a disapproving look when she realized what he was doing. Picking a last piece of rush from the cloth and folding it back into place, Cordwainer glared at her until she flushed and looked away. He stepped around her towards the door and walked out onto Stonegate.
Thomas’s green hat bobbed above the heads of pedestrians a block away. Placing his back against the stone wall of Adam’s shop and raising his hood against the wind, Cordwainer waited. When Thomas came into earshot, he called out, “What happened? Where are the rest of you?”
Thomas waited until he was standing next to Cordwainer to answer. “Magda is free,” he said, “and she and Edgar are taking Bess home in the cart. They said to thank you for all your help.”
“Aye,” said Cordwainer. “What else did Godfrey have to say?”
“He says we are to be at Saint Peter’s tomorrow at Terce,” Thomas replied. “Master, Sir Humphrey and Lady Marie are in York and have been here for almost a week.”
Cordwainer snorted as they set off down Stonegate towards Coney Street. Twas no wonder Godfrey had freed Magda; he had a new suspect to fix his attention on. Pray God the lady was not in jail by morning. “Tis possible she is our lady in grey, then,” he said, “though I would have thought Holt would remember her. And didn’t Edgar say he’d never seen the sisters? Has the Archdeacon informed her of the deaths?”
“He didn’t say, just that she didn’t know of the deaths before he found her.”
Cordwainer was silent, mulling over the new development. As they turned onto Coney Street to walk back to Ouse Bridge, he glanced at Thomas to find that his face was set in a troubled frown. “What is it?” he asked. “You can’t be unhappy that we freed Edgar’s wife.”
“Nay, tis just…,” Thomas hesitated, then continued. “Master, I’m not certain Bess Gammer told the truth about Magda.”
“What? Why?”
“She as much as asked Edgar what time she should tell the Archdeacon that Magda left her tavern,” Thomas replied, “and she winked at him when he told her. Edgar looked as surprised as I was.”
Cordwainer shrugged. “She’s an old woman, Thomas,” he replied. “Perhaps her memory is not as keen as it once was.”
“I hope that was it,” said Thomas.
“Tis something to keep in mind,” Cordwainer said. “But if Magda was with Bess at all that night, she’d scarce have had time to find Sir John. The Old Boar is a long way from the Green Leaf, and she doesn’t know the city well. Nay, twas the woman in grey, whoever she might be.”
Thomas looked relieved. As they approached Ouse Bridge, he chuckled. “Did Jankyn show you the Saint Michael tapestry?” he asked.
“Aye,” said Cordwainer. “One may be thankful that Saint Michael killed the beast without having to eat in front of it every day.”
Thomas laughed again. “Twas what Adam thought you’d say.”
◆◆◆
Back at Saint Martin’s Lane they ate the supper Agytha had prepared for them and left warming by the fire. Cordwainer watched the hunting tapestry flutter in the draft that blew through the front room and bathed his ankles in cold air whenever the door to the kitchen opened. Another tapestry, one that blocked the draft from the back of the house, would fix that, but if he could not find one tapestry he wanted, where might he find two? Perhaps Agytha would not mind having the old one in the kitchen; he would ask.
He placed his hands on the table and hoisted himself to his feet. Tottering toward his chair by the glazed window, he cursed himself for having walked so far that day. Even with the ride in the cart to Saint Peter’s, it had been too much for his hip. He lowered himself onto the cushioned chair and placed his foot on the stool. Thomas was clattering around in the kitchen, tidying up after their meal, the noise of his movements almost lost in the howl of the wind. Something banged on the front door, and it was only the sight of Thomas rushing to open it that convinced him it was a person and not a stray piece of debris blown by the gale. Please, God, not a death, he prayed.
Thomas opened the door to a swirl of leaves and dirt in a gust that seemingly blew Brother Michael into the room. He stood patting his robe and cloak down about his legs, heedless of the cloud of hair standing straight up on his head, as Cordwainer breathed a prayer of thanks. “Have you questioned the nuns yet?” he asked, forgoing any greeting.
Brother Michael flushed. “Nay,” he stammered. “Tis why I am here. The day I was to go to Clementhorpe, right after you left me on Stonegate, I was called back to Saint Mary’s and told twas over, that the killer was found. Today the Archdeacon sent again, and I was told I must find Lady Claire’s killer. I ran as fast as I could to get here.”
“Sit and rest yourself,” said Cordwainer, “and I will tell you what you missed.”
Thomas brought wine for the three of them as Cordwainer talked, then busied himself clearing away the larger bits of debris blown in by Michael’s entrance. By the time Cordwainer had finished, the wine was gone and the room looked as it had before the monk’s arrival. “If Lady Marie is the killer,” asked Michael, “must I still question the nuns?”
“Aye, of course you must!” said Cordwainer. “Have you learned nothing at all? The investigation does not stop if we have a suspect – twas the Archdeacon’s mistake with Magda Westcote. We do not know tis Lady Marie. Until we know who is the killer, we must continue to investigate as if we had no suspect at all.”
Brother Michael looked abashed, but nodded. “I will go to Clementhorpe in the morning,” he said. “Unless you want me to go with you to Saint Peter’s?”
“Nay,” replied Cordwainer. “The nuns have waited too long as tis. Come here when you’ve finished. We should be back by then.”
“Aye, Master Cordwainer.” Brother Michael stood and moved toward the door. “I must be at Saint Mary’s for Compline. Thank you for the wine and for not losing hope in me. God give you good evening.”
“May God go with you, Brother,” said Cordwainer. “Try not to let the wind blow half the street in this time.”
Brother Michael flushed and squeezed himself out the door.
Blanche
Talbot Manor, July 1268
The days had grown hot and the early wheat was ripening in the fields. The small attic room where Blanche slept was stifling in the nights even with the window open as far as twould go and the door left open to the narrow staircase. If she could not keep Sir John from her room, there was no reason not to leave it open. But Sir John no longer came in the night, and Blanche knew twas that he knew her secret, although Lady Claire remained oblivious. Would she be
allowed to remain at Talbot manor after all? Or would they wait till the babe was born to cast her out?
She rose and pulled her nightshift off, glad to be rid of the sweat-soaked garment. The water in her basin was lukewarm, and she splashed it on her hands and face, letting it trickle down between her breasts. With a sigh she pulled her woolen dress over her head and tied the apron over it. Placing one hand firmly below her swollen belly, she descended the staircase and went outside towards the cookhouse.
The pails that usually stood by the door were missing. “I’ve sent Gib for the water,” said Julian, looking up from the bread she was slicing with a frown. “Lizzie is ill, and Sir John and his lady up already. You must serve.”
Blanche stared down at her protruding abdomen. “But…”
“You must conceal it as best you can,” said Julian, thrusting a laden tray into her hands. “You’re not that big yet, and your gown and apron hide most of it. I’ve already served the wine myself. Go!”
Blanche hurried outside and in again to the passage to the great hall carrying the tray in front of her. She placed the butter in the center of the table, then served the plates of freshly baked bread. Turning to go back to the cookhouse, she breathed a sigh of relief.
A hand fell on her shoulder and jerked her roughly around as the tray fell from her hands. “Whore!” hissed Lady Claire, her eyes fixed on Blanche’s stomach. She pulled at Blanche’s gown to draw it tight over her body and grimaced. “How dare you enter this hall in that condition? You are to be out of the gate and away before Prime.”
“Aye, my lady,” said Blanche, her eyes cast down. Blinking back her tears, she turned again toward the passageway. Twas almost a relief to have the charade over, or twould be, if she had somewhere to go.
[Matthew Cordwainer 03] - The White Rose Page 15