Cordwainer froze. He had not expected a threat against Lily, nor had he thought Rose would have a knife. He would bring a bailiff next time, perhaps two. “There’s no need for that, Mistress,” he said. “Let Lily go so we may sit and talk. No one need be hurt.”
Lily’s eyes rolled in her head and she made a mewling sound, reaching out for a wooden doll that lay in the rushes by the counter. Rose held her tighter, her knuckles white on the knife. Cordwainer took a step forward and was seized by a coughing fit. He leaned forward, grasping his stick to stay upright. From the corner of his eye, he saw Thomas step away from the stairs.
“Nay!” Rose screamed. “Stay back!” Her panicked eyes swept the room. Lily wailed and struggled to get away. “We are leaving the city with Master Holt. You will let us go or Lily dies.”
“Aye,” said Cordwainer, recovering enough to stand straight again. “You will go. But first you must put down your knife so we may talk. I need you to help me understand why you poisoned Lady Claire and Sir John.”
“They deserved to die,” said Rose, her eyes flicking from Cordwainer to Thomas, to Holt, and back. “Lady Claire with her whip. Sir John – ” She laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. “Sir John believed I came to him in his tavern room because I wanted him to bed me. He swallowed the whole tankard of ale before realizing the taste was wrong.” The hollow laugh came again, and she pulled Lily closer as if snuggling with her. Lily relaxed, leaning back against Rose.
“Aye, I am certain they deserved death,” said Cordwainer. He coughed again. The curtain that covered the doorway into the back room twitched. Brother Michael must be there. He prayed the young monk would do nothing foolish. “But Lily is innocent. Put the knife down. You would not like your hand to slip.”
“Lily will die if you do not let us go,” Rose repeated. Her eyes flicked from face to face again and her hand trembled on the knife. “I won’t let you defile her. Keep your filthy hands off her, off me! Tis all I ever wanted.” Tears filled her eyes, and she shook her head angrily.
“No one will touch the girl,” said Cordwainer, “nor you. I am an old man and ill, as you see. I cannot harm you.” He coughed again. “Perhaps I can help you. But only if you do not harm Lily. Please, Mistress Rose, put the knife down, there on the countertop.”
Rose wavered, watching as Cordwainer again bent at the waist, coughing and spitting into the rushes. Thomas and Holt stood frozen in their places. When Cordwainer recovered his breath, he saw that Brother Michael had opened the curtain an inch and was standing poised, ready to strike at Rose. He shook his head slightly and saw Michael nod. “Put the knife down,” he said wearily. “Let this be over.”
“I cannot,” said Rose. “But you are right, tis over. Lily is innocent, and there is only one place she may remain innocent, and tis not of this world.”
“Nay!” Cordwainer shouted, starting forward as Rose’s fingers tightened on the knife. With a quick jerk she pulled it sideways across Lily’s neck. Hot blood spurted into Cordwainer’s face, and as he wiped frantically at his eyes he saw Michael burst through the curtain to push Rose face-down on the counter. She twisted beneath him and lashed out with both hands holding the knife, slicing his arm from wrist to elbow as Thomas rushed past Cordwainer to grab her hands in his. They struggled for the knife as Holt went first to Lily, then Michael, pulling bandages from a shelf under the counter.
Cordwainer lurched forward to help Thomas, reaching for Rose’s fingers to peel them from the knife. But they had all underestimated Rose’s panicked strength. With an anguished roar, she swung her arms toward Cordwainer’s head. Thomas crashed into Cordwainer, knocking him to the floor and losing his grip on Rose’s hands. In an instant, Rose reversed the knife and plunged it deep into her own chest.
Cordwainer sat up coughing. Blood trickled down his face into his beard, and he wiped his hand across his eyes. Lily lay face down over the counter, her head dangling over a pool of blood. Drops fell from her neck, and he felt bile rise in his throat. He turned his eyes away to see Thomas lift the side of the counter and bend over. “Will she live?” Thomas asked.
Holt appeared above the counter, his hands red. “Nay,” he said. “She’s gone.”
Cordwainer struggled to stand, but fell back as the coughing seized him. As Thomas rounded the counter to help him, the front door opened. An elderly woman squinted into the shop, unable to take in what she was seeing. “Master Holt?” she quavered, then gasped. The door slammed shut, but Cordwainer could hear her screaming in the street.
Thomas pulled Cordwainer to his feet. He stared at the pool of blood at his feet, the splashes on the counter and the wall. “It looks like the Shambles in here,” he said. “Let us see to the bodies, then you or Brother Michael should run to Saint Peter’s and let the Archdeacon know what has happened.” He swayed on his feet and Thomas caught him.
“Master Holt and I will tend the bodies,” said Thomas. “You must go in to the back and sit with Brother Michael till you are steadier.” He led Cordwainer behind the counter. Rose lay crumpled in the space behind, the knife still protruding from her chest. Cordwainer shuddered and crossed himself, pulling away from Thomas to kneel by the body.
“Nay, I will do that,” said Thomas, pushing him through the curtained doorway. Brother Michael sat on a low stool with his arm stretched out to Holt, who was wrapping a linen bandage around it. The monk’s face was whiter than the linen, but he managed his wide grin as Cordwainer sank onto a stool next to him. “I did not know you were hurt,” said Cordwainer. “All I could see was Lily.” He bent double with coughing. When he sat up, tears streamed down his face. He could not remember having failed so badly ever before.
Chapter 23
York, May 1273
Prioress Alyse rose from her knees and brushed the loose dirt from her hands. The transplanted lilies waved in the dappled sunlight under the apple tree where Lily lay interred next to her parents. She crossed herself and prayed, then crossed herself again and turned to give Cordwainer a sad smile. Together they walked along the gravel path towards the dormitory building where Alyse had her reception chamber. They did not speak until Alyse was seated behind her writing desk with Cordwainer in the hard chair opposite.
“Do you know where Rose was buried?” she asked. “I would like to visit and pray for her.”
“Outside the walls by Bootham Bar,” Cordwainer replied. “Tis unmarked, I’m afraid.”
Alyse smiled ruefully. “Then I shall pray here. God will hear wherever I am. I know tis said a suicide can never be forgiven, but she suffered so much. Perhaps the Lord will be merciful to her.”
“Perhaps,” said Cordwainer. “I will pray for her as well.”
They sat in silence until Sister Cecelia knocked once on the door and entered with cups of wine. She smiled shyly at Cordwainer and withdrew. Alyse picked up her cup. “What will happen to Talbot manor?” she asked. “Will Lady Marie and her husband return there or stay in the north?”
“They will not return. Tis said they are bringing Eric Holt back from Lincoln to manage the estate, and that Marcus Holt plans to live there with him. He’s giving up his shop in York, says he could never work there in peace again after the deaths.”
Cordwainer reached into his scrip and withdrew a small leather pouch. He placed it on the writing desk and pushed it towards the Prioress. “I almost forgot,” he said. “Tis gold. Twas Sir John’s, but now tis a donation to the Priory from Lady Marie.”
Alyse fingered the pouch but did not open it. She gave Cordwainer a shrewd glance. “Is the lady aware of her donation?” she asked.
“Tis possible it slipped her mind,” Cordwainer admitted.
“Perhaps you would be so kind as to remind her of it when you next see her,” said Alyse, her eyes bright. “You may tell her I will remember her in my prayers.”
“Aye, I will,” Cordwainer replied, “when next I see her.”
◆◆◆
He walked slowly back to Saint Martin’s Lane, tr
ying to savor the beauty of the day. Easter had come and gone, and he could not stop pondering the question of what he could have done to avoid the bloodshed at Marcus Holt’s shop. A bailiff would have made little difference that he could see. No one could have stopped that quick jerk of the blade across Lily’s neck. Perhaps a bailiff might have kept Rose from suicide, but twould have only saved her to be hanged. If only he did not dream of the slash of the knife, the blood spurting into his face, night after night.
A cart stood in the lane outside his house, and he quickened his steps. When he reached the house, the door stood open and Adam’s voice came from within, followed by Thomas answering. He stepped inside and caught his breath. The faded hunting tapestry was gone, and in its place hung a dark green forest with leaves edged in silver thread. Tiny birds with silver beaks perched among the branches, and flowers bloomed white and silver around the tree trunks. He looked closer, and could see fantastical animals hidden among the leaves and grasses. Twas a scene he could look at for hours and still find something new.
Isolde glided along the bottom where it hung an inch above the rushes and reached up one white paw to pat a silver mouse. “Nay!” shouted Thomas, taking a step forward as the cat streaked from the room.
“Tis perfect,” said Cordwainer, settling himself in his chair. “Wherever did you find it?”
Adam grinned. “That is a mercer’s secret, known only to myself and my apprentices,” he replied. “Speaking of whom, I would like my apprentice Thomas back in the afternoons, if you are done with him for a time.”
“Aye,” said Cordwainer, putting his foot up. “You may have him. I am deeply in your debt – not too deeply, I hope. That’s a lot of silver thread.”
“Nay, Papa, tis a gift,” said Adam. “Perhaps twill cheer you up. Thomas says you’ve been blaming yourself for the girl Lily’s death. You of all people must know that when God calls someone, His will cannot be opposed.”
“Then why investigate deaths at all?” asked Cordwainer. “Why prosecute and hang killers? We could simply say, ‘Tis God’s will,’ and be done.”
“Twas Rose who killed Lily, not you,” said Thomas.
“Aye, Thomas, I know.” He studied the tapestry. “Is that a weasel, down in the corner? Or is it a fox?”
“Tis silver that needs care or twill tarnish,” said Agytha from the kitchen door. She stalked across the room to examine the embroidery. “Aye,” she said with a sigh. “I’ll do my best.”
“Tis all we can do,” said Cordwainer. “Tis all we can do.”
[Matthew Cordwainer 03] - The White Rose Page 22