The Riddle Of St Leonard's: An Owen Archer Mystery 4

by Candace Robb

  Bess bit her tongue. She had better things to do than argue with a thick-headed man. ‘And one of the lay sisters, you said? Who was that, Barker?’ Knowing of Honoria’s attachment to her uncle, Bess asked the question as a test, to see whether the man’s information was accurate. Many a gossip filled in the gaps in their knowledge with rumour.

  Barker frowned and rubbed his shoulder. ‘I should say no more, Mistress Merchet. Felice Mawdeleyn is more likely to be the one you want, eh?’

  Very likely. Felice was the sort to inspire confidence. Yes, it was very likely. Still. ‘You can trust me, Barker. I have no reason to make public my uncle’s sins.’

  ‘True enough. ’Twas Anneys, the one who has disappeared.’

  Bess almost nodded, so certain had she been about what he would say. It took a moment to realise he had not said it. ‘Anneys. Not Honoria de Staines?’

  ‘Anneys. He was fond of Honoria, but like a daughter.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  The chest puffed up. ‘A man can tell such things of another man, to be sure.’

  ‘You say Anneys disappeared?’

  ‘Aye. Last night. With the Ffulford child.’

  Well. That would keep Owen occupied for the day. ‘Bless you, Barker. You have been most kind to me. Come to the tavern some evening and we shall treat you well.’ She walked slowly away, searching her memory for all she knew of Felice Mawdeleyn. Of Anneys she knew nothing. But Anneys was Owen’s problem now.

  Owen found Honoria de Staines folding laundry at a table outside a curtained alcove in the Barnhous. She nodded to him, put a finger to her lips and opened the curtain to show him three sleeping infants.

  ‘God go with you, Captain Archer,’ she said softly as she stepped away from the curtain. ‘What would you ask me today?’

  He chose first to broach the unpleasant topic. ‘Forgive me, Mistress Staines, but I must know whether the late mayor, William Savage, spoke the truth when he claimed you were sleeping with corrodians at this hospital.’

  The pretty woman coloured. ‘William Savage said that?’ She snapped the blanket she was folding. ‘So that was his revenge.’

  ‘Revenge?’

  ‘Let us speak of William Savage, Captain.’ Honoria placed the blanket on the table and took time to smooth it. When she turned to Owen, her eyes glittered with emotion. ‘God forgive me for speaking ill of the dead, but William Savage played false with me. Oh, at first he was generous and kind, assisted me in my petition to work here as a lay sister. And then he demanded I lie with him. I refused.’ She glared at Owen’s questioning look. ‘For fear of his wife, Marion, Captain.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘But she had already condemned me. She is a woman who believes the worst of everyone, and she was certain that he helped me because he had bedded me. She ordered him to make amends by purchasing a corrody for her mother so that she might be free of her.’

  ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘He told me. And he said she meant to blacken my name at the hospital. Can you guess why he told me, Captain? So that I might agree to enjoy the sin for which I was to be condemned.’ She was finding it difficult to keep her voice low.

  An ugly story, if true. ‘Did you tell anyone of this?’

  ‘Don Cuthbert. He believed me.’

  Easy enough to confirm. ‘And you had no relations with the corrodians?’

  Honoria bristled. ‘I am not a fool, Captain. I wished to stay here.’

  One of her charges had begun to whimper. She disappeared through the curtains, emerged rocking a boy of Hugh’s age in her arms.

  ‘Is that all, Captain?’ Her eyes were cold.

  ‘Just one thing more. Julian Taverner’s last illness. Old Nate mentioned a foul-smelling physick.’

  ‘There was one with a bitter taste. Master Taverner complained of it.’

  ‘It was one of the physicks Mistress Merchet brought?’

  ‘I could not swear to it, Captain. Anneys had charge of his care. And now if you will excuse me, I must change this little one.’

  ‘God go with you, Mistress Staines.’

  Owen strode away with mixed feelings. A part of him pitied her; he knew that men treated women so. But he would have thought such a man as Savage above that. Only a man who had earned his comrades’ respect attained a position as mayor. Or was Owen naïve? Even so, why would Savage risk spreading a rumour that could return to bite him?

  It was past midday by the time Bess made her way up Spen Lane towards Mawdeleyn’s house, and a good thing it was that time or she might not have seen the black-robed monk slumped in the doorway. But with the sun overhead he lay in a pool of light, his hood pulled up to shield his eyes. It was not the sort of thing Benedictines did, sleep in doorways. And why should they with such a lovely abbey? Still, here he was. Bess stepped closer, then backed up when she caught the unmistakable odour of pestilence. The monk had sensed her presence and struggled to sit up. As he clutched the doorway, his hood fell back.

  ‘Brother Wulfstan!’ Bess pressed her scented sachet to her nose and mouth and crept forward.

  Wulfstan gazed round, confused. ‘I am yet on mortal soil?’

  Bess knelt down, touched Wulfstan’s forehead with the back of her free hand. He was on fire. Sweet Heaven, how was she to get him to the abbey?

  She stood up, looked round. The normally busy street was deserted. No doubt all feared walking past the monk in the doorway. Still, it was disgraceful, with churches to either side, that no man of God had offered help or sought it for him. ‘I am going to find a horse or a cart, Brother Wulfstan. I shall return quickly.’

  Down Spen Lane she hurried and out on to St Saviourgate. In a short while, Seth, the ragman, came down the road, leading his donkey cart. ‘Mistress Merchet. A queer place to find you of an afternoon.’

  Bess was disappointed to see the cart almost empty. The rags would have made a nice cushion for Wulfstan. But no matter. ‘I have found a soul in need, Seth, and you are a good Samaritan sent by God. I must get Brother Wulfstan to St Mary’s. He is ill. He cannot walk.’

  Seth’s eyes grew big as he crossed himself. ‘The Death?’

  ‘I shall purchase every rag in the cart.’

  ‘He will die, whether or no he makes the abbey.’

  ‘A free tankard of ale each night for a week? ’Tis more than you deserve. You should do it for love of the man who has sat with so many who would have been abandoned.’

  ‘Two tankards.’

  ‘You will be the ruin of me.’

  ‘I give you the rags.’

  Wulfstan stood with Bess’s help, and with Seth’s aid she eased him into the cart. As she let go of him, Wulfstan touched her sleeve. ‘I promised … shrive … must go back.’

  ‘We are going to St Mary’s. Do not try to talk,’ Bess said, arranging the rags around Wulfstan, who shivered though the day had grown warm. She pulled the hood down over his eyes. ‘Rest now.’

  As they led the donkey cart through the streets to St Mary’s, folk fled before them. Bess felt as if she were Moses parting the Red Sea. And it came to her that this plague with which God punished them for their sins made greater sinners of them all. Or most of them.

  Brother Henry knelt in prayer at Wulfstan’s bedside while the novice Gervase kept cool compresses on the old infirmarian’s brow and sponged his face, neck, and arms with strawberry and sage water.

  ‘John,’ Wulfstan whispered.

  Henry glanced up from his prayers. ‘Who is John?’ he asked again.

  Wulfstan’s eyes fluttered open. He put a trembling hand on his assistant’s head. ‘My attacker. He did not have the sacrament.’

  ‘I do not understand, Brother Wulfstan.’

  Wulfstan closed his eyes, asleep once more. Brother Henry wiped his own eyes and bent back to his prayers.

  Twenty-four

  Owen’s Suspicion

  Lucie studied Owen’s back as he reached into the potting shed and pulled out the shovels. He curs
ed as he looked them over. ‘Where is the old one?’

  It was ever so, he missed nothing until he needed it, and he always behaved as if he had not been privy to its disposal. And always when Lucie was busy. ‘We gave it to Magda. She knew of someone who would be grateful for it. You gave it to her.’

  It was unclear whether his scowl was meant for her or himself.

  ‘Then I must risk one of the better ones.’

  ‘Apparently.’ But Lucie knew that Owen’s temper was not about the shovel. ‘You expect to find more than the child’s treasure,’ Lucie guessed.

  Owen took his time choosing a shovel, picking up one, then another. At last he put two aside and hung the others back on their hooks.

  ‘Turn round, husband. I will see your face.’

  Owen turned. His jaw was set in anger.

  Lucie traced the tension with her finger. ‘What is this? Angry with me for guessing?’

  His jaw relaxed a little. But the scar that spread from beneath his eyepatch was livid.

  ‘Are you angry with Ravenser and his men for letting Anneys and Alisoun slip through their fingers?’

  ‘At myself. I am the one let them slip away. I have been so blind.’

  ‘No, my love. You see quite well with one eye. Ever better,’ Lucie teased, trying to cheer him.

  Owen did not smile. ‘Anneys was one of the first to arrive at Laurence’s burning house.’ He paced to the linden tree, turned. ‘She was present when Julian died, and she had charge of his care – and no doubt control of his medicines.’ He headed for the house, his long legs scissoring through the late summer garden. Lucie followed, wishing to hear the rest of his tirade. ‘She had Brother Wulfstan’s bag and followed me when I watched Cuthbert hide it. She may have overheard me questioning the child.’ He stopped, turned his head round to see her with his one good eye. ‘I have been such a fool!’

  ‘Perhaps. But …’ Lucie tilted her head, raised her eyebrows, waited for him to ask her to go on.

  ‘But?’ Arms folded in front of him, he glowered in the kitchen doorway.

  Lucie chose her words to soothe, if possible. ‘Each time, Anneys has had reason to be there. She may yet prove guilty of nothing more than a foolishly conceived plan to protect Alisoun.’

  ‘I do not believe it.’

  Lucie lost her patience. ‘Do you believe she is guilty of everything? What of Alisoun’s story of the man? And Wulfstan’s attack?’

  ‘Two are guilty, and Anneys is one of them.’

  ‘Heaven help the woman if she is innocent.’

  ‘Have you met her?’

  Lucie closed her eyes, cursed herself for opening her mouth at all. ‘I have been kept from all this by my work.’

  ‘You are well away. Anneys does not look the innocent is my point. She has hard eyes, now I think of it. A bearing too confident for a lay sister.’

  ‘And that makes her guilty?’

  ‘You will see, Lucie.’

  ‘I shall indeed. Come. You must help me move the jars to the workroom.’

  They reached the hall as Kate showed Bess in. As soon as they saw their neighbour’s face, they both forgot the jars. She told them about Wulfstan. When she was finished, Lucie did not speak at once, nor did Owen.

  Kate set a beaker of water before Bess.

  ‘Bless you, child. Bad news dries the throat.’

  She had drained the beaker before Lucie spoke. ‘It is what we have all feared. Jasper most of all.’

  Bess pressed Lucie’s hand. ‘We do not know it is pestilence. He might merely have exhausted himself.’

  ‘It is not like you to hide from the truth,’ Owen said. ‘A man does not burn with fever when he is weary.’

  ‘Other maladies cause fever,’ Bess said. ‘There is more. The lay sister Anneys is missing, and Alisoun Ffulford.’

  ‘I know,’ Owen grumbled.

  ‘And Barker says Anneys and my uncle were lovers.’

  ‘What?’

  Lucie rubbed her shoulders with a sudden weariness. ‘You see, my love? It is unlikely she would have wished him dead.’

  Bess’s eyes widened. ‘You thought she was the murderer?’

  ‘I know nothing,’ Owen said. ‘Tell me of Wulfstan. He had been alone?’

  ‘He had been with a dying man, I think. He kept saying that someone must shrive him.’

  ‘Wulfstan?’ Owen asked.

  ‘Shrive the man he had been with. In that house, I suppose. He called him his attacker.’

  Owen rose. ‘Tell me where it was.’

  Lucie sensed an urgency in him. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Wulfstan’s attacker. The one who stole Alisoun’s horse. He has crossed my path too often for coincidence. I shall fetch Erkenwald and pay the stranger a visit.’

  ‘But he is dying,’ Bess said.

  ‘Then we shall take a stretcher.’

  Lucie pressed her cool hands to her hot cheeks. ‘I do not know how to tell Jasper.’

  Lucie returned to the shop intending to speak with Jasper when they had a quiet moment. It was difficult working beside him, trying to hide her feelings. Suddenly Alice Baker rushed into the shop, pushed aside old Jake, who had been ahead of her, leaned on the counter.

  ‘Mistress Baker, I pray you, wait your turn,’ Lucie said, motioning to the elderly man to step back up to the counter.

  Alice Baker grabbed Lucie’s hand. Her eyes were red-rimmed and frightened. ‘I beg you. My youngest, Elena, she coughs and coughs. Since this morning. It is the pestilence, I know. What can you give me to protect her?’

  Old Jake needed to hear no more. He crossed himself and scuttled from the shop. The form of pestilence most quickly spread was the one that began and ended in a bloody cough.

  ‘Does she cough up blood?’ Lucie asked.

  The frantic mother tightened her grip on Lucie’s hand. ‘Is that what is to come?’

  ‘Not necessarily, Mistress Baker. Now calm yourself. She is not coughing up blood?’

  ‘Nay.’

  ‘Is her nose running?’

  ‘And her eyes, too.’

  ‘It may not be the pestilence.’

  ‘She burns with fever.’

  ‘That does not mean pestilence.’ Lucie struggled to keep her voice even.

  Jasper came from the workroom, where he had been refilling jars. ‘Brother Wulfstan might tell you quickly. Send one of your children to the abbey. They will know where he meant to go last. You might find him.’

  Lucie touched Jasper’s hand. ‘No. Not today, Jasper. Pour Mistress Baker the cough syrup for children, and mix boneset and nettle to bring down the fever and dry the child’s chest so the cough will cease.’

  Jasper gave Lucie a puzzled look, but moved to obey.

  Alice Baker let go Lucie’s hand, pounded the counter. ‘That is not enough!’

  ‘That is the best I can do,’ Lucie said, rubbing her hand. She wanted to slap the woman. Day after day she came in with her theories and remedies, but now, when a child was actually ill, she was so ridiculously helpless. ‘If the child has pestilence, you have a house full of remedies, surely.’

  The woman reared up. ‘But my Elena is dying!’

  ‘She is coughing. And if you give her the syrup and a heaping spoonful of the boneset and nettle in boiling water,’ Lucie picked up a spoon to show her the proper size, ‘Elena might quickly show improvement.’

  ‘And if it is pestilence?’

  Lucie dropped her head, pressed her temples. Jasper handed the bottle and package to Alice Baker. ‘Bless you, my son,’ the woman murmured, tossed two groats on the counter and hurried from the shop.

  Lucie sank down on the stool behind the counter and pressed her fingertips to her hot eyelids. She must not cry. It would make it worse for Jasper.

  ‘Mistress Lucie?’

  She took a deep breath, raised her head, wiped her eyes. ‘I must tell you something, my love.’

  ‘It is Brother Wulfstan,’ Jasper guessed.

  She
took his hand, recounted all that Bess had told her. Tears glistened on the boy’s freckled cheeks. She touched them, pressed his hand. ‘We do not yet know that it is pestilence.’

  ‘How can it be otherwise? He has sat with so many of the dying, he has breathed their air, touched their bodies, their sweat, their—’ Jasper’s voice broke. He twisted out of Lucie’s grasp, strode across the shop to the door.

  ‘Where are you going?’ A silly question.

  ‘To see him,’ Jasper shouted as he stepped out into the street. ‘Do not try to stop me.’

  Lucie wanted to run after him – not to stop him, but to join him. But he had not invited her. And she had the shop to watch.

  Down Blake Street Jasper marched, hands pumping, teeth clenched. He was trying to keep himself angry. As long as he was angry about Brother Wulfstan’s illness he would not do something that might embarrass him. So to keep his mind on his anger he debated the target of his anger – God or Abbot Campian. He thought the abbot a good choice because he might have forbidden Brother Wulfstan’s sacrifice; he had the authority. But Jasper had learned enough about debating to know that a solid, unassailable argument must stand up to generalisation. This particular argument, extended, would have supported Mistress Lucie in using her authority over Jasper to order him to Freythorpe Hadden with the children. And prevent him from his present mission. God, on the other hand, had authority over everyone and had brought this curse on mankind. But it was dangerous and possibly sinful to be angry with God.

  The debate delivered Jasper to the postern gate of St Mary’s Abbey still fuming. He rang the bell for the porter.

  ‘Jasper de Melton. Benedicte, my son,’ Brother William said, his fleshy face distorted in a frown that split his forehead in half with a deep groove. ‘You rang with such energy I feared the chain might not hold.’ He relaxed his face, but did not smile. ‘You have come to see Brother Wulfstan?’

  Jasper nodded.

  ‘You may find it difficult to get past Brother Henry. But God has sent you here, I cannot turn you away. And I know that Brother Wulfstan would like to see you.’

  Jasper’s anger had begun to dissolve with those kind words, and disappeared entirely as he ran through the abbey gardens, where memories rushed at him. By the time Jasper reached the infirmary, he had wiped his eyes on his sleeves several times.