He lifted his cup, drained it, and caught himself about to dash it to the floor. This business twisted all his muscles into tight bundles that wanted to spring loose. He wanted action. He wanted to take someone's head and drive it into the wall.
But not Cecilia's. He could not imagine doing harm to her.
And she knew it. She had made it so.
Bess had invited Lucie to come sup with her when she had closed the shop for the day. Tildy supported the idea with enthusiasm. "You must, Mistress Lucie. Mistress Merchet always cheers you up."
With the disturbing item buried in the backyard and the frustrating meeting with Ambrose Coats on her mind, Lucie was in need of Bess's good sense and cheer. She went over to the tavern.
They sat in the kitchen, close to the fire, Bess and Tom and Lucie, eating in companionable silence. Then, over cups of Tom's ale, Lucie told them about her odd visitor.
"Blessed Mary, Mother of God," Bess said, "what a thing to drop in your lap."
"That is not what bothers me," Lucie said. "I think Coats lied about something, but I cannot make out what. What do you know about him?"
Bess shrugged. "He's a talented musician and a gentle man. He never drinks too much when he's in the tavern, never gets noisy." Bess looked at her husband. "There is little else to tell, eh?"
Tom considered that. "Nay. Except that he's a private one. Not unfriendly, mind you. A good listener. And folk do say he's a generous friend. Just quiet about himself."
"Who are his friends?" Lucie asked.
"Well, you see, that's it, isn't it?" Tom said. "1 could not say who his friends might be. I suppose his fellow waits--he seems friendly enough with them--but then again, they might know as little about him as 1 do."
"Speaking of one who keeps his story to himself, our groom, John, has been showing an interest in the ladies of a sudden," Bess said.
Tom and Lucie exchanged a puzzled look.
"What's this to do with Coats?" Tom asked.
"It's naught to do with him. It's to do with John and Tildy."
Lucie sat up. "Tildy?"
"The girl's temperature rises at the sight of John, if you haven't noticed, and he fans the flame just enough to keep it going. Wicked lad. When all the while he's bedding down with a woman of experience."
Tom almost choked on a mouthful of ale. "How do you know that? Are you spying on the boy?"
Bess rolled her eyes. "I've no need to spy. It's a scent he's got about him. And a swagger that says some woman's turning his head. Telling him he's a man."
Lucie stood up. "Poor Tildy."
Bess nodded. "That's why I mention it. You'll have your hands full when her feelings aren't returned."
As Lucie left her friends, she resolved to speak with Tildy. But in the kitchen, she discovered John and Tildy sharing a cup of ale. Jasper's pallet had been moved out by the fire. The boy sipped some broth and listened to them sleepily.
"He was a great destrier," John was saying as Lucie entered, "and
I was warned that he let only Sir Thomas touch him. But he was gentle as a lamb with me." As the draft from the open door reached him, John turned, instantly on guard. When he recognized Lucie, he bobbed his head. "God be with you, Mistress Wilton."
Lucie nodded to John. "It seems your company and Tildy's has cheered Jasper. I thank you."
John nodded, his eyes disturbingly direct. Something had definitely changed since he had traveled with Lucie in the summer.
Tildy took Lucie's cloak and hung it on a peg on the wall. "Jasper does look better this evening, doesn't he?" Her cheeks were flushed, and she looked pretty.
Lucie did not ascribe that to Jasper's condition. Bess must be right. Lucie had seen just now how Tildy hung on John's every word with a look of adoration. Merciful Mother, Lucie had not realized that Tildy had lost her heart to John.
She could not imagine that Tildy knew much about the boy. John kept to himself. Even the nosy Bess had never gotten much out of John about his life before he showed up in the York stable, burning with fever and his hand crushed. Three fingers on his right hand had to be amputated, leaving John with the thumb and the little finger. But he had healed quickly under Bess's care, and he'd proven to be an honest, hardworking, and resourceful young man. Four years later, Bess and Tom still had no idea how John had crushed his hand or whence he came. Lucie wished Tildy had chosen someone more predictable.
Owen woke early and crept past Anna's door, glad that she slept. Downstairs, the fire had just been stoked and had not yet warmed the air near the hearth. Owen stepped outside into a biting wind with a chill to it that promised snow. He headed out back to the kitchen to get warm.
The kitchen was a one-room stone building with a large hearth and two baking ovens. Her sleeves rolled up to show strong arms, Angharad, the ruddy-faced cook, basted a haunch of venison while she talked with a younger woman who huddled close to the fire. Next to the younger woman lay a wet, mud-spattered traveling cloak. She held her hands and feet as close to the flame as possible, and Owen noted that her boots were crusted with mud. She seemed
absorbed by a tale the cook was weaving. Owen stood in the doorway and listened. To his delight, it was a tale from his childhood, and Angharad's voice had the soft accent of Wales.
It was from the story of Branwen, daughter of Llyr, about Evniss-yen maiming the horses of Mallolwch, King of Ireland. "When King Bran heard of it," Angharad said, "he was as dismayed as was Mallolwch, for to my countrymen a horse is a noble beast, deserving as much care as our own babes."
"Really?" The young woman's eyes followed the cook's movements.
"As close to the truth as a good bard ever gets," Owen said, laughing.
The two women turned startled faces in Owen's direction. The traveler's face was interesting--square jaw, wide-set brown eyes, and a generous mouth. When the brown eyes met Owen's, there was a moment of interest, then alarm. Owen's mood sank. The scar and patch again. He would never be allowed to forget it. The woman stood up with an abruptness that knocked her cloak on the floor. She was an unusually tall woman. Large-boned. Strong, but not ungraceful.
The cook greeted Owen. "I was telling Kate the story I told her little William to make sure he cared well for your horse, Captain Archer."
"It is good to hear the old tales," Owen said. He turned to the younger woman. "I see you've been traveling. How did you escape being escorted from the gate by my men?"
"Oh, she's Kate Cooper," Angharad said. "Steward's wife. Came in through the fields."
"Yes. I came in through the fields." Kate Cooper kept her eyes focused on the floor. "I should be going. The children will be wanting their food." She turned to get her cloak, then seemed confused when she did not see it on the bench.
Owen picked it up from the floor and offered it to her.
"Thank you." She still did not look directly at him, which was a challenge since they stood eye to eye. "I--I must have knocked it down." She seemed oddly flustered as she took the cloak, almost dropping it again. Owen did not think it was his charm that flustered her so. She'd hardly glanced at him.
Perhaps if he were friendly. "So your mother is improved?"
Kate Cooper frowned, then nodded. "God has spared her once more, yes." She glanced at him while she adjusted her cloak, but looked away quickly when she caught his eye.
"Going so soon?" Owen could tell by the surprise in the cook's voice that Kate's departure was unexpected.
"Must see to the children, Angharad." Kate Cooper hurried out the door.
"A fine-looking woman," Owen said as he sank down on the bench Kate Cooper had vacated.
"Oh, aye, she is that, is Kate. And she knows how to trade with her looks, that one does. I'm surprised she didn't go to work on you. Are you wearing some sort of charm your wife made to keep you true?"
"Perhaps she does not care for the patch."
"Nay, I'm sure it wasn't that." Angharad put a tankard of ale in front of Owen and eased herself down on a bench beside him.
"Where did you hear about her mother?"
"From Jack Cooper."
She nodded. "Didn't think the Mistress would have told you about that."
"Why not?"
"Mistress never took to her. She could see what Kate Cooper was about from the start, and she almost didn't take Jack as Steward because of it."
"Kate's a wandering wife?" Owen wanted to make sure he understood what the cook was hinting.
"Aye, and the Mistress doesn't believe that Kate goes off to nurse her mother."
"That must make it difficult for Jack Cooper."
"He never mentions her to the Mistress. As he puts it, why remind her of the thorn if the wound's gone numb?"
"What wound, Angharad?"
"I'd best not say. It's enough to say that the Mistress was quite right about Kate. And that's why I'm surprised you're sitting here with me instead of out in the stables with her."
The servant Sarah hurried in from the hall. "Mistress Ridley is down, Angharad."
The cook sighed and eased herself up. "Well, Owen, there's work to be done out here and she'll surely be wanting you in the hall. I'll send in something to fortify you just in case Kate changes her mind." She winked at Owen and turned back to her cooking.
Cecilia Ridley stood with her hands on her hips, her eyes snapping with anger, watching Owen cross the hall to her. "I hear you've been out to the kitchen to meet the harlot."
The venom in Cecilia's voice stunned Owen, even with the forewarning from Angharad. "I went out to get warm," he said. "I did not know Kate Cooper would be out there."
"So what did she say about me?"
"About you? Nothing. In fact, she said precious little to me at all. Took off as if she thought me a leper. What should she say about you?"
"She has stayed away from me since I found her with Will Crounce. In the stables."
Owen could tell by the passion in Cecilia's eyes what she had found them doing. So that was the thorn that Angharad would not define. He decided to take the leap. "That must have been painful for you, considering your feelings for Will."
Cecilia opened her mouth, closed it, turned her head away. "My feelings?" Her voice was tight. "How did you--" Her eyes flared again. "What has that harlot been telling you?"
"Nothing. No one had to tell me. I guessed it the first time I came, when I brought news of Crounce's murder."
"Sweet Jesu." Cecilia crossed herself and sat down, her pale face even paler. "Was I so obvious? Do you think Gilbert knew what a Mary Magdalene I'd become?"
"I do not think one indiscretion makes you a Mary Magdalene. In any case, your husband did not seem a particularly sensitive man, Mistress Ridley. I noticed because it is my business to study people when I am working for the Archbishop."
Cecilia dropped her head and made a great business of smoothing her skirt. Owen guessed she hid tears. Her voice, when she spoke, verified that. "Will Crounce was a gentle, loving man." She took a deep, shuddering breath, still with her head bowed. "We were thrown together so much. He was kind. Always ready to help.
He was what I had thought Gilbert would be. He was more my husband than Gilbert ever was."
"I am not here to judge you."
Now she looked up. Her dark eyes shimmered with tears in the light of the fire. "But the last months, after Will died, Gilbert became a husband. He took Will's death hard. It transformed him, as if somehow God's grace moved from Will to Gilbert. Had I known Gilbert could be so kind"--Cecilia shook her head--"I never knew him. I was his wife for twenty-five years, but I never knew him. I regret so much." She buried her head in her hands and wept, the sobs coming from deep within her, a sound painful to hear.
Owen sat quietly.
"Please." Cecilia rose suddenly, wiping her eyes. "Excuse me." She ran up the stairs, to the confusion of Sarah, who had just come through the door with a tray of food.
Owen hated himself for forcing Cecilia to reveal such intimate feelings. It explained her guarded behavior. She suffered because she had betrayed her husband with his best friend, a wrong she could never undo. Owen did not think it possible now that Cecilia had prepared the physick.
He ate and then went out to the Steward's house to find out why he made Kate Cooper so nervous.
No one answered his knocking. He stepped inside, saw no signs of a traveler just arrived. Perhaps Kate Cooper had already tidied up. Owen left the house and headed for the stables. He met Jack Cooper on the way. The man looked angry.
"So you've been to my house? Did you see Kate? Is it true she's back?"
"I saw her in the kitchen this morning. I just went up to your house hoping to speak with her, but there's no one there."
"Kate's not there?" Jack started to walk quickly toward the house, burst through the door as if trying to catch someone who was eluding him. He spun on his heels and faced Owen angrily. "So where's she got to--that's what I want to know."
Owen wanted to know that, too. And why Jack was so angry. "When she left the kitchen this morning, she said the children were waiting for her."
Jack shook his head. "I've just taken the children to the kitchen
for some food. Angharad asked me how many meals the children wanted to eat today. She thought Kate had come back to the house to feed them, just as you say. But Kate's not here. There's no sign of her, is there?"
Owen looked around. A large pallet in the corner looked as if it had just been left, rumpled blankets and all, when the children and their father got up this morning. There were no traveling packs in evidence. Nor did Kate Cooper's cloak hang on the wall. "I'd say you're right, Jack. Not a sign of her anywhere. Where had she been?"
"With her mother."
"How far away?"
"York. Just like yourself."
"Your wife was in York? Did she travel there when Gilbert Ridley went?"
"Oh, aye, they went together, those two."
"But that could be important." Owen was excited. "Why didn't Mistress Ridley tell me that, I wonder?"
"That's easy enough to answer. We didn't tell her. I've learned it's best to let the Mistress forget Kate."
"But your wife was stranded in York when Ridley was murdered. Surely you were worried. I wonder you didn't mention it to me."
"Nay, not stranded."
"What do you mean?"
"Kate did not expect to travel back with Master Ridley. Thought she would be gone longer--her mother was that sick, you see. Kate would find a way back. Or has, I guess. Where could that woman have got to?" Jack had closed the door to the house. Now he turned about as if deciding where to head.
Owen tried to piece things together. Cecilia had caught Kate with Crounce, whom Cecilia loved. Kate went to York with Ridley. Ridley and Crounce were murdered. Someone had been poisoning Ridley. Owen could not fit all the pieces together yet. But something about Kate Cooper bothered him.
"How often does your wife travel to York?" Owen asked.
Jack Cooper shrugged. "I don't suppose I should complain. Her mother's alone. Kate's all she has for family."
"How often, Jack?"
"Well, let's see. This Martinmas. Last Corpus Christi--"
"She was there for the Corpus Christi procession?" Owen thought of Crounce's cloaked companion.
"Oh, aye. And I was with her. But that time wasn't so much for her mother. A family wedding up in Boroughbridge. We took her mother up."
Owen tried to keep the excitement out of his voice. "How many days did you spend in York at Corpus Christi?"
"Well, let's see. We would have been there a day before Corpus Christi and a day after."
"So you left the night Crounce was murdered?"
"Well, now, no, we left the morning after. But we didn't hear about it till at the wedding. He was from Boroughbridge, you know, so word got up there quick." Jack frowned. "Why all these questions?"
"I'm just trying to place who was where at the time of the murders, Jack."
"You're not accusing us of anything?"
"Not so long
as you don't seem to be hiding anything. Why should I?"
Jack shrugged. "It's just all these questions."
"How did you and your wife feel about Crounce's death?"
"Kate and I were grieved, you can be sure. 'Twas a terrible thing to happen to as good a man as ever lived. Well, he was no saint, as I've told you--about him and the Mistress."
"Were you apart from your wife at any time during your stay in York, Jack?"
"Nay," Jack said, then shrugged. "Well, there was the night Kate felt sickly, you know, and I went to a tavern. Being in York and all. I couldn't see just sitting and watching her mother work all evening."
"And what night was that, Jack?"
Jack squinted at Owen. "Why do you want to know?"
Owen thought quickly. "Crounce was in a tavern--the York Tavern--right before he was murdered. If you were there that night, you might have heard something. Seen someone approach him?"
"Well, it was that night, but not the York Tavern, so I can't help
you. How would you and your men like to help me track Kate down, Captain Archer?"
They searched for Kate Cooper all day, but found no trace of her.
Owen took his leave of Cecilia Ridley and Anna Scorby the next morning. He asked Anna to send word when she arrived at St. Clement's Nunnery. He might need to speak with her.
He made a last visit to Jack Cooper, hoping that Kate might have returned during the night. The man was glumly dressing his three children.
"What is Kate's mother's name, Jack?"
"Felice. Fancy name for an embroiderer, eh?"
"Embroiderer? In York?"
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