Owen agreed.
"But 1 almost forgot. A Father Cuthbert from Ripon came to mass this morning. He asked if I could get a message to you. Mistress Anna Scorby is at St. Clement's Nunnery. He said you would want to know."
"Thank you, Jehannes. I will go to her when 1 can. At the moment, I must go deliver the news of John's death to those who loved him."
"God give you strength in your dreadful task."
19/ Grief
Bess opened the kitchen door to a nightmare. Her John, a boy as dear to her as her own children, slung between two of the bailiffs servants. Blood stained John's smock and leggings. An angry burn had already begun to pucker the right side of the boy's lovely face.
"Sweet Savior, this is an evil day." Bess caressed John's left cheek with her hand. "God bless you for bringing him home. Put him just inside." She walked past the servants to the bailiff. "Tell me what happened."
"Your neighbor Captain Archer will do better with that, Mistress. He will be along soon." The bailiff gave her the bare facts.
"So Owen hunts for Jasper?" Bess looked out into the falling snow. " 'Tis a hard day for such a pastime." She gestured to the bailiff to enter the kitchen. "Sit yourself down, Geoffrey. And your two boys who carried such a grim burden."
She poured them all some spiced wine, watered down for the morning.
The bailiff took a drink and tipped his hat to Bess. "We think the young man might have been dead from the wounds before his face was burned, Mistress, which is to be hoped."
Bess crossed herself and wiped her burning eyes on her apron. The bailiff cleared his throat and asked without looking at Bess, "Now this lad that Captain Archer says was with your John--was he staying here, too?"
Bess shook her head. "He was under Captain Archer's protection. And Mistress Wilton was treating him. The boy has had one horror after another come upon him."
"Were John and this Jasper de Melton friends?"
"John took an interest in poor Jasper. I'm sure there was something in the boy's misfortunes that reminded John of the dark time in his own past."
"Ever know how your John lost the fingers?"
"Not the how or the why. His fingers were crushed and in an awful state when we found John sleeping in the stables in a high fever. Master Wilton, God rest his soul, sent for the barber, who removed the pitiful things. Then Master Wilton treated the wounds and the fever. We none of us asked any questions, except whether any kin were to be notified. He told us he had none living. Not anymore. And that was that. If he had wished us to know, he would have explained. He seemed most grateful that we did not ask."
The bailiff nodded. "Could last night's attack have been aimed at John, do you think?"
Bess looked down at John's mutilated body. "It's most likely to do with Jasper's troubles. Where exactly are John's wounds?"
"A knife slit him down the middle. That bleeds a lot, that land of wound. The rest are bruises and one head cut that might've knocked him out. Looks like he struggled a good bit."
"A strong assailant," Bess said.
"That's what's odd, Mistress. Matt Fletcher thinks it was a woman they saw running away down the alley. Can you imagine a woman that strong?"
Bess rolled her eyes. "Just because we can bear children and be as loving as the day is long doesn't mean we can't also be strong and vicious. Well"--she stood up--"I'd best clean the poor lad up before Mistress Wilton's girl Tildy sees him and shows the whole city of York how strong and vicious a woman can be when given cause." She went over to John. "A woman, you say? We'll just have to find her, won't we, Geoffrey?"
"Aye. We'll do our best."
"We all will," Bess muttered to herself as she poured water from the heavy kettle into a shallow basin.
Lucie's throat tightened when she saw Owen's face. "Sweet Jesu, what is it? Jasper is dead? Injured?"
Owen sank down on a stool in the shop. "Tildy can't hear?"
Lucie tiptoed to the beaded curtain and listened, returned to her husband shaking her head. "She is making enough noise with the water on the hearthstones to mask anything we might say in normal voices."
"John is dead."
Lucie sat down, too, crossing herself. "And Jasper?"
"Jasper is injured, I think, but he has disappeared into the city again." Owen ripped off his patch and rubbed his scarred eye. "I don't know how to tell the girl, or Bess and Tom--though the bailiff has probably already delivered John's body to the York Tavern."
"Who has done this?"
"I believe it is the woman Jasper told Tildy about. She must have watched his old home, hoping to catch him sneaking back."
"Foolish boys. It was so unnecessary."
"I have a suspicion, Lucie. You say Bess thought John had a woman?"
Lucie nodded.
"This is what I'm thinking." Owen raked his hands through his hair. "Kate Cooper, wife of the Ridleys' Steward, she's one for the men. And she's strong enough, I think, tall and large-boned, to overpower John. She might have discovered he knew Jasper and somehow got John to deliver Jasper to her. When John realized she meant to harm Jasper, John attacked her, but she was too ready for him. And Jasper escaped."
"It fits together in a tidy package, but why would Kate Cooper do it?"
Owen sighed. "That's the problem. I don't know. A favor for a lover?"
"That is not likely. Just because Kate's morals are questionable, it does not follow that she has no sense--nor a mind of her own. No. She would have to be involved somehow herself."
Owen fiddled with the patch. "I know too little about her. I cannot guess how she might be involved." He sank back against the wall, his eye closed. "I cannot believe John is dead."
Lucie sat quietly, waiting for Owen to continue.
He finally opened his eye, took Lucie's hands in his.
"We did our best to protect Jasper," Lucie said.
Owen nodded.
He looked so defeated, Lucie wanted to gather him in her arms and hold him safe. But it was not the time for that.
At last Owen put the patch back on and straightened up. "Jehannes says that Anna Scorby is at St. Clement's Nunnery. I will go talk to her. Ask her what she knows about Kate Cooper. The woman accompanied Gilbert Ridley to York at Corpus Christi and at Martinmas."
"Do you really have any hope that John's murderer will be found so easily?"
"Easily? No. If Kate Cooper is this strong woman who has killed a young man and injured another, not to mention killed two grown men, she is desperate and clever. She will not be easily found."
"Is there any danger that she has taken Jasper?"
"I don't know. The Fletchers thought a woman escaped alone. I hope that is true. I did not come sooner because I went to tell Magda Digby what had happened. I asked her to keep her ears open. I confess I'd hoped Jasper might have gone there again."
"He still might."
"That's what Magda said."
"Owen, I've been thinking about Martin Wirthir."
"So have I." Owen told her what Magda had told him.
Lucie tried to perk up. "That is all helpful, isn't it? I think I should go to Ambrose Coats and tell him about Jasper." Lucie gave Owen a challenging look.
To her surprise, Owen nodded. "I think perhaps you should."
Lucie stared at him. "You are not going to argue?"
"No. Jasper is out there somewhere, wounded, perhaps dead. I must find him quickly. I am not in a position to refuse help."
Lucie touched Owen gently on the cheek. "You are not to blame. The boys went out of their own accord. Tildy has made that clear."
Owen shrugged and looked down at his hands.
"There's been a message from the Archbishop," Lucie said, hoping to distract him. She handed him the letter. "I took the liberty of reading it. It kept me occupied while waiting for you."
"Is there anything useful?"
"Perhaps. If we could piece it all together."
Owen scanned the letter. "Alan of Aldborough. That's near
Bor-oughbridge. A possible connection with Will Crounce. We have so many little pieces. But none of them fit."
"I'll go to see Ambrose Coats when you've returned from St. Clement's," Lucie said.
Owen nodded, then pounded his knees with clenched fists and stood up. "And now I must tell Tildy about John."
"True. There's no hiding it from her. She will read it in our faces."
"How do I soften something like this?"
"Tell her that he died defending Jasper. Tildy is at an age when heroism appeals. It will at least help her see it as a noble end. Meanwhile, I should go see Bess."
Tom Merchet sat on a stool beside the table where Bess had laid John to clean him. Tom stared at the ragged wound that traced a line from near John's left breast to his navel.
Bess looked up from her determined scrubbing. At the sight of her good friend's face, Bess's reserve crumbled. "Oh, Lucie, look what they've done to our John," she cried, and stumbled over to Lucie to bury her face in her friend's shoulder. Lucie hugged Bess as she fought her own tears. She should say something comforting. But what good were words? She just let the tears come and held Bess tightly while the woman sobbed.
Tildy frowned down at her wet hem, then back up at Owen. "Why would someone kill John?" Her voice, a mere whisper, trembled.
"Perhaps John was defending Jasper," Owen said.
"I must see him."
"He would want you to remember him in life, Tildy."
Tildy picked up the bucket of ashy water, hugging it to her, then suddenly threw it into the hearth. The water turned to billowing steam.
Owen jumped to pull the bucket out before it caught in the few remaining flames.
Tildy looked around, fists clenched, searching for something else to throw.
Owen grabbed her shoulders and guided her to a chair, where he sat her down and told her to wait while he got a cup of wine for her.
"I don't want wine, I want my John," Tildy said flatly, her hands still clenched. She glared down at the floor.
"John is dead, Tildy. The Lord has claimed him. Now you must be strong for Jasper. When we find him, he will need your nursing."
"Who was it, Captain Archer? Who killed John?"
"We don't know, Tildy," Owen said.
"It's that woman. She was bedding him. That's why he was so full of himself all of a sudden."
"That may be so, Tildy, but we don't know who she is."
"When I find out, I will kill her. And I will take unholy pleasure in it." Tildy smiled.
Owen handed Tildy the wine and ordered her to drink.
As the wine took effect, Tildy's nose and cheeks reddened and the tears began. Owen knelt in front of her and held her as she sobbed John's name and cursed in a vocabulary that astonished him.
As Owen approached, the bell of St. Clement's rang for nones. He slowed his steps, knowing that he must wait half an hour before the women would be out of church. The snow had stopped, and sunlight reflected off the fresh snow making it sparkle like stars in a white heaven. Owen paused in one of the orchards that surrounded the nunnery wall. The bare branches still held delicate ridges of snow. A line of small indentations revealed the pathway of a neighborhood cat. Behind him, a bargeman called to another on the river. Owen turned to look at the muddy water, receded from the previous flood but ready to rise again as soon as the snow began to melt up on the moors. He thought of Potter Digby drowning in the Ouse, another victim who had died without cause. At least this time Owen did not carry the burden of responsibility. Lucie was right about that, but Owen found little comfort in it.
As he wandered aimlessly through the winter orchard, Owen grew conscious of an uneasiness that made him spin round to check behind him several times. Along with the shower of needle-pricks he felt across his blind eye, it was a sign of danger. Someone watched him, so good at the task that Owen could not catch him--or her--at the game.
The next time he felt it, Owen spun round and ran full tilt toward the source of the feeling. Suddenly two men appeared running along the riverbank, slipping in the icy mud. With Owen's limited vision, he was no more nimble-footed than they, and he soon lost them. Well, he'd given them a scare--that was something. He went into the nunnery.
Wearing the garb of the Benedictine sisters, Anna Scorby entered the receiving room. She kept her head down, each hand tucked in the opposite sleeve.
"You look at home here, Mistress Scorby."
She looked up at Owen, and her face broke into a shy smile. The swelling was gone; pale bruises were all that marked her face now. "I am glad it is you, Captain Archer. I have wanted to thank you for making it possible for me to stay at Riddlethorpe until I healed enough co come here. God bless you. I pray for you daily."
"Have you had any more trouble from your husband?"
Anna shook her head. "But I know that he is not done with me. He is not the sort of man to forgive. Even though I doubt he truly loves me."
"Why do you doubt it?"
She blushed and dropped her head. "He has another woman. Perhaps more than one." Her voice trembled.
"So you have loved him." Owen was surprised.
"Oh, yes, I did love him at first." Anna raised her head. "Even though I knew the marriage was arranged for business purposes. I felt lucky that he was handsome. Clever. But he killed my love with his hatefulness. Do you know what terrible thing I did to deserve the beating? I picked up a letter that had come for him. He found me holding it. Not reading it, just holding it."
"His temper does seem out of proportion to the deed. Perhaps it was a letter he wanted no one to see. Was the seal broken?"
"No. He said 1 was to learn not to touch his things." Anna looked directly at Owen now, her dark eyes much like her mother's, but sad. "You see, Captain, I am not an unnatural woman. I would gladly have loved him. But he turned my love to hate. And to save
my soul from that unforgivable sin, I have thrown my heart into prayer."
"He had beaten you before?"
She looked away. "Never so badly. A clout on the head for a late meal or a dropped dish. I feared for any children we might have, how they would be beaten for every misstep."
"Do you know who sent the letter?"
Anna shook her head. "But I suspect. There was something about the seal that made me think it was from a woman. And that is why I think perhaps Paul has more than one leman. I doubt that the Steward's wife can either read or write, and of course such a woman would not have her own seal, so I think Paul has another leman of some social standing. Perhaps it would cause a scandal. I don't know."
"The Steward's wife? Your Steward or your mother's?" Owen asked.
"My mother's."
Another little connection. "Kate Cooper is your husband's mistress? Are you certain?" An insatiable woman, she must be.
"Of her I'm certain. Just as my mother found her with Will, so I found her with Paul. Before we were married, and after. When I found them in the stable before we married, I forgave it, thinking that young men must satisfy themselves somewhere before they are wed. But after--" Her eyes swam with tears. "Of course I said nothing. 1 would never dare accuse him." She pressed her sleeve to her eyes.
"Was Jack Cooper married to Kate before he came to Riddle -thorpe?"
"Oh, yes. She was large with their first child when they arrived."
"Do you know anything about her past?"
Anna shook her head. "Nor do I care to."
"Do you think your mother knows anything about Kate Cooper?"
"Ask her. She is to come visit me here at Christmas."
"1 will." Owen got up to leave. Paused. "While you are praying for me, Mistress Scorby, pray for Jasper de Melton, too. The lad who witnessed Will's murder. He is missing, probably wounded, I hope
not dead. And a young man is murdered whose only sin was being Jasper's friend."
Anna crossed herself. "I shall pray for all of you."
Ambrose Coats listened to Lucie's account while rubbing the wood of his rebec w
ith an oily cloth. The activity allowed him to keep his head down, his hair hiding his expression.
"1 know that your friend Martin Wirthir is anxious to stay hidden," Lucie concluded, "but Magda Digby says he had tried to watch out for Jasper. So I thought he should know to look for him. The boy is likely weak and feverish. He cannot protect himself in such condition."
Now Ambrose looked up at Lucie. "If there were some way I could find Martin and tell him, I would. But I tell the truth when I say that I have no idea where he is, even whether he is in York. He would want to know about this latest attack. I pray that he will come here or go to Magda's soon. He does worry about the boy. He says the boy is an innocent victim. He grieves for him."
"When Martin helped me on the road, I felt he labored under a great sorrow," Lucie said. "He was kind to me."
Ambrose nodded. "Martin has his own moral system that defies my efforts to understand. He is one of the kindest, most generous men, but also one of the greediest, most ruthless. It depends on who you are." Ambrose shrugged. "I find his strangeness irresistible." Their eyes met, and suddenly Lucie understood what Martin was to Ambrose.
"Our hearts are rarely wise in whom we love, are they?" she said.
Ambrose laughed. "Praise God. What would we sing about otherwise?"
20/ Desperate Measures
A rat ran across his wounded side. Just an average sized rat, and yet the pain woke Jasper. His right side and
his right cheek throbbed and burned. He had tried to bandage himself, but he could not bandage his cheek properly and still breathe. He slipped in and out of fever dreams. A woman as tall as a house with a knife that glowed with
fire bent over him. A string of hands tied to her waist brushed Jasper's face. As the hands touched him, they came to life, clawing at him, raking across his right cheek.
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