The Lady Chapel

by Candace M. Robb

  Cecilia dropped her gaze to her hands, which she clasped tightly in her lap. Lucie worried that she had said too much. Then the dark eyes moved back to Lucie.

  "The way you love Owen, that is how I loved Will Crounce," Cecilia said in a voice tight with emotion. "I would have done anything to keep his love. When I heard that he was dead, I thought my life was over. I wanted to punish everyone who still lived. And then I wanted to die.

  "I watched Gilbert. He'd become secretive. Nervous. Suddenly solicitous of me and the children. I began to put things together. Just before Gilbert went to York at Corpus Christi, we'd had an argument. He knew what was between Will and me. Had known it for a while. He said he was home now and it had to stop. I was his wife. Remembering that argument, I decided that Gilbert had killed Will. He had gone to York with that purpose. I hated Gilbert at that moment. I wanted him to suffer. I wanted him to feel the pain of my grief for Will." She touched Lucie's hand. "I never meant to kill Gilbert. Just make him suffer."

  The light in Cecilia's eyes frightened Lucie. So it was true, and she had made Gilbert suffer for so long, so horribly, to teach him her own pain. Lucie shivered.

  The dark eyes filled with tears. "I would undo it if I could. Gilbert changed. He became so like Will, thoughtful, gentle. I told myself the suffering purified him." A sob shook Cecilia. "I am the Devil. Gilbert was innocent. I should burn in Hell for all eternity." She put her head in her hands and wept silently.

  Lucie moved to the bench beside Cecilia Ridley and put her arms around her. "How awful you must have felt when Owen brought you the news of Gilbert's death."

  "I felt God had taken him to punish me."

  "To punish you?"

  Cecilia looked up, wiping her eyes. "I can never beg Gilbert's forgiveness."

  Lucie felt she was looking into the eyes of her own pain. They sat quietly for a long time. Then the Prioress arrived, bearing wine. Dame Isobel seemed momentarily startled by the tearful faces. "It is almost time for our evening meal. Will you join us, Mistress Wilton?"

  Lucie looked at Cecilia.

  Cecilia took her hand and nodded.

  21/ Martin Wirthir

  Martin hid for a while in the alley to see whether anyone would return to the scene. If it had been an attempt on the boy's life, the assailant would want to know whether he'd succeeded. Last night Ambrose had told Martin about Jasper's latest trouble. Two weeks the boy had been on the streets with festering wounds. He must be a strong lad. Even so, a fever ravaged the boy's thin frame. Martin judged it best to know who he was up against, but it was difficult to resist getting the boy to safety immediately.

  Martin's watch was soon rewarded, but not by the man in the cart. It was a woman's voice he heard, stopping people in the street--"They say that a boy was hit by a cart in this street," Martin heard her say, "I wondered-- my son is missing. More than a week ago. He is wounded--his father--it was a terrible argument. The boy they described--it sounded like my son. Can you tell me? Was a boy hit in this street? Do you know where he is?"

  Martin peered out to see this excellent actress. The woman was tall, with a queenly carriage. He could not see the face beneath the hood, but there was something about her that seemed familiar.

  Folk could give the woman no information. There had been a reckless driver down the street, yes. And some thought perhaps they'd seen a boy running. But no one had actually seen a boy hit. Eventually she gave up, going off in the direction of the Shambles.

  Martin hoisted Jasper over his shoulder and headed for the apothecary.

  Owen and Tildy had waited for Lucie to return from St. Clement's, but as the hour grew late, they decided to eat the stew that Tildy had prepared, then Owen would go out after Lucie. When the knock came at the shop door, they both looked up in fear. Lucie would not knock, but if someone had found her . . .

  Owen was at the door in a few strides. When he saw the body slung over Martin's shoulder, Owen feared the worst. "Lucie! Sweet Heaven, I should never have--"

  "Peace!" Martin held up a hand. "Not Mistress Wilton. This is Jasper. I have found him. Almost didn't find him in time. A man tried to run him over with a cart."

  Martin turned so Owen could see the boy's face, with its awful wound, feel the boy's fever. Owen touched the hot cheek. "I hope you have brought him in time."

  Martin carried Jasper to the kitchen.

  "Sweet Mary in Heaven!" Tildy exclaimed.

  When Owen saw the extent of the boy's wounds, he shook his head.

  "This is more than we can deal with here. He needs Brother Wulfstan's ministrations."

  "Where is this Wulfstan?" Martin asked.

  "At St. Mary's Abbey. He's the Infirmarian."

  "Good. That is not too far. Let us go at once."

  Owen turned his head to get a good look at Martin. "I take it you are Martin Wirthir?"

  The man nodded, shrugged. "Forgive me. My worry over Jasper has robbed me of my manners. I am Martin Wirthir. I heard that Jasper was missing and in danger. I went looking for him."

  "Thank God you did."

  "We must get the boy to the Abbey at once."

  Owen nodded. "Very soon. You can help Tildy clean his wounds first, get him into dry clothes, and try to get some wine into him. I must go out. Lucie is at St. Clement's talking to Cecilia Ridley."

  "She is outside the city walls at night?"

  "It was daylight when she left. I cannot think why she is so long returning."

  "Someone must go for her," Martin agreed. "I propose that I do, and you take Jasper to the Abbey infirmary."

  "No. I go for Lucie."

  "I delivered Mistress Wilton safely before. The boy needs attention now. They know you at the infirmary--"

  "I must find Lucie first," Owen insisted.

  "Be sensible, man. I know my way among the night people of York."

  Owen bristled. "I did not ask for your approval of my plan. It will be time enough to take the boy after I've found Lucie."

  They both turned as the kitchen door opened, letting in the cold. And Lucie. She looked at Martin with some surprise, then down at the boy lying in front of the fire. "Sweet Jesus, you have found him!" Lucie rushed over to Jasper. She looked back at the two men who stared at her as if she were unexpected in her own house. "What is the matter?"

  "What kept you so long?" Owen demanded. "And how did you get back here in the dark?"

  "I spoke with Cecilia, and then I ate with the sisters. The Dean of the Minster brought me back with him. He is the brother of Isobel, the Prioress, and had dined there." Lucie looked from one to the other. "What were you arguing about?"

  "We were discussing how we will get Jasper to St. Mary's Infirmary tonight," Owen said.

  "St. Mary's?" Lucie bent over Jasper, lifted the torn shirt to examine his side, touched his wounded cheek. She crossed herself, whispered a prayer. "We must get him to Brother Wulfstan at once. Shall I ask Bess for the use of her donkey cart?"

  "It will be faster if I carry him," Owen said.

  "Shall I come with you?" Lucie asked.

  "No," Owen said, with more force than necessary. "You stay here with Tildy and keep out of trouble."

  Martin raised an eyebrow, looked back and forth between Lucie and Owen.

  Lucie's face reddened. She clasped her hands behind her back. "Then go quickly. God be with you."

  Tildy had managed to clean the boy's face without causing much pain, but the water roused him. Jasper looked up into Tildy's concerned eyes and whispered, "John is dead. Can you forgive me?"

  Tildy's eyes brimmed with tears, but she managed enough voice to say, "There is nothing to forgive, Jasper. He brought it on himself." She dabbed his forehead.

  Lucie knelt down to him. "Owen is going to carry you to our friend at the Abbey, Jasper. He will dress your wounds and make you comfortable. And you will be safe there."

  The boy squeezed her hand.

  Wulfstan had been called from the chapel to Jasper's bedside. He shook his head as
he studied the boy's wounds. "In this most sacred of seasons, how sad it is to see what man has become. God give me the grace to undo this." He looked up at Owen. "God be with you, Owen. Go home to Lucie now. Henry and I will get right to work."

  Martin had stayed back by the door to the infirmary, keeping out of the way while Owen explained what he and Lucie had noted about the wounds and Jasper's condition. Now Martin came forward. "You must know that the boy is in grave danger. Someone tried to kill him today. And those knife wounds would have been mortal had not another young man come between the attacker and Jasper."

  Wulfstan nodded. "The boy will be safe here. This other young man. He was badly injured?"

  "He is dead," Martin said.

  Wulfstan and Henry crossed themselves.

  When they returned to the apothecary, Martin and Owen joined Lucie by the hearth. Tildy had spiced and heated a jug of wine, and now went to bed to leave them to their talk.

  Owen lifted his cup toward the guest. "You've led me quite a chase, Martin Wirthir. Do not misunderstand--you are welcome here. But I wonder why you have been so unwilling to meet me."

  Martin raised his cup to Owen, then Lucie. "You are gracious to offer me drink and a fire. I have not recommended myself to you by my secretive manner, but I did not know whether I could trust you. I thought I could trust Mistress Wilton, but you, Captain Archer--I had doubts about you. And it is such a complicated business."

  Lucie studied Martin, noting that although he dressed like a tinker, in leather and rough wool, there were touches--his cleanliness, the earring, the faint scent of perfumed oil--that contrasted with his disguise at close quarters. "You are not in the habit of living on the streets."

  "No. I work with wealthy merchants and nobility, Mistress Wilton. But ever since Will Crounce's murder--"

  Owen sat forward, fixing his right eye on Martin. "If you felt threatened by Will's murder, why did you stay in York?"

  Martin rubbed his eyes, sighed. "For many reasons."

  "And these reasons are?"

  Martin glanced from Owen to Lucie, who was just as intent, and back to Owen. "I can explain myself. I'd come to York, as you know, shortly before Corpus Christi. I had been near the court and heard that a ruthless family who had no cause to love Gilbert Ridley and me were suddenly in favor with the King, so I came up here to tell Gilbert. And to warn Will Crounce that by association with Gilbert and myself he might be in danger."

  "So Will knew of his danger?" Lucie said.

  "Yes--though much good the knowledge did him."

  "Severing the right hand," Owen said, "that is usually to mark a thief."

  Martin dropped his gaze to the floor. "You make a success in trade, someone is bound to call you a thief."

  Lucie glanced at Owen. She could tell by the set of his jaw that he was not satisfied with the response. Neither was she.

  Owen shrugged. "You still do not trust us. I do not know how to prove to you that we can be trusted. My interest in your activities has to do with the Archbishop's wish to understand why Ridley was murdered. I do not intend to use the information for any other end--except, of course, to protect Jasper and my own household, which is now involved. I have searched for you to warn you that you are in danger."

  Martin jerked his head up. "The fact that I am a foreigner makes me an outcast here. And other things about my life do not help the matter. Yet you sought me out to warn me. Why?"

  Owen sat back, smiling. "I confess that once I'd warned you, I hoped to learn more about you and your connection with Ridley and Crounce. Anything that might help me understand why they were murdered, and in such a manner. I thought it a reasonable trade."

  Martin shrugged. "I appreciate your honesty." He stretched his arms and yawned. "I am very tired."

  "So are we all," Owen said. "Did you go to Riddlethorpe after Crounce's death?"

  "I did. Quietly. There is an inn I know in Beverley where I could stay and send word to Gilbert. He did not want his family or household to associate with me. For their safety. Considering what has happened, I see how wise he was."

  "And did you notice how Ridley wasted away?"

  Martin looked puzzled. "Ridley? Wasting away? The man loved his food."

  "Not of late, according to Archbishop Thoresby himself."

  Martin stared into his cup, thinking. "I remember his looking uneasy and weary, but that is all. And he ate well that evening. Why? Was Gilbert ill?"

  "He was being slowly poisoned," Owen said.

  Lucie studied the floor, not wanting to reveal what she'd learned at St. Clement's in front of Martin.

  "Merde." Martin was visibly shaken. "How could that be? Gilbert had stopped at home. He must have eaten mostly at Riddlethorpe."

  "It was something he believed to be a physick," Owen said.

  "Horrible." Martin crossed himself. "No. I saw no sign of such a thing."

  "How long after Crounce's death did you visit Ridley?"

  "A week, perhaps. I did not wait long. Who was poisoning Gilbert?"

  Lucie held her breath.

  "We do not know," Owen said. "Do you?"

  "I never met his household, as I've told you, so I do not know what enemies he might have had there."

  Owen nodded. "So you warned Ridley, returned to York, and stayed. That seems unwise."

  "It was when I returned from Riddlethorpe that I discovered Jasper de Melton on the streets. I had dined with Will the night before Corpus Christi and then walked with him to Toft Green, where they were assembling the wagons. He pointed out Jasper with such pride. 'I hope to be a father to him,' Will had said. The boy was being instructed in the use of the greasehorn, so I wasn't introduced, but I could see he was a lively, bright child. I was happy for Will. He was a sensitive man. He was not happy without a wife, and I knew, though he did not as yet, that Gilbert was coming home for good. Suddenly he would be without Cecilia Ridley."

  "So you knew of their attachment," Lucie said.

  "I did."

  Owen folded his arms. "What else can you tell us?"

  Martin shrugged. "There is little more to tell. I tried to keep track of Jasper, show him where he might get food. He seemed to be doing well. I went away for a while." Martin took a drink, his eyes suddenly sad. "I remember that my first thought when I heard of Will's murder was that Gilbert had killed him, and the hand was for stealing Cecilia. Not that I could really imagine Gilbert doing that, but because Will was so uninvolved with our more secret undertakings." Martin put his cup down, rubbed his eyes. "It was a shortlived suspicion. It was too dreadful a thing. And anyone who knew Will knew how gentle he was. He couldn't inspire that kind of hate in a friend."

  Owen stifled a yawn. It was getting late. "It seems that Will Crounce was loved by all who knew him."

  Martin nodded.

  "What do you mean by 'more secret undertaking'?" Lucie asked.

  "We took risks, Gilbert and I."

  "And one of them had to do with the family in favor at court?"

  "That was mostly my folly. My greed. Gilbert stumbled on it later. But not Will. He knew nothing."

  "What family?" Lucie asked.

  "It is too dangerous to tell you."

  Lucie cocked an eyebrow. "Things are rather dangerous for us already."

  "For now, I will not speak their name. And now it is my turn to ask you a question. Do you know who has committed these murders?"

  Owen shook his head. "No."

  Martin sighed. Stood up. "You are tired. I am tired. I must take my leave."

  "Will we see you again?" Lucie asked.

  "Of course. I shall want to know what you learn, considering that I am likely to be the next victim."

  Upstairs, Lucie curled up against Owen and closed her eyes. Owen shook her shoulder. "Can you think I'd let you sleep before you tell me what you learned at the nunnery?"

  Lucie looked up sleepily. "Have you noted that Jasper's wounds are on his right side?"

  Owen feared that her mind was al
ready muddled with sleep. "What does that have to do with Cecilia Ridley?"

  "Cecilia says that Kate Cooper is left-handed. Facing Jasper, she would have most easily wounded him on the right."

  Owen grinned. "That is useful. What else did Cecilia Ridley tell you?"

  "Very little about Kate."

  So little information. And he'd been so worried about her. "Well, she must have told you something for all the time you spent there."

  At the angry tone in Owen's voice, Lucie came to attention,

  propping herself up on her elbow. "You asked me to go speak with her. Are you now angry that I did?"

  "I am angry that you stayed there to sup and did not send word."

  Lucie touched Owen's cheek, urging him to look at her. He glared. She reached up and kissed him. "I am sorry, love. Please forgive me. I was so proud of myself for getting a confession from her that I was quite giddy."

  Her smile was so smug. "A confession? You waited all this time to tell me?"

  "We had a guest, my love."

  "What confession?"

  "Cecilia was poisoning Gilbert. She thought he'd killed Will out of jealousy. She did not mean to kill Gilbert, just to give him pain as Will's death pained her."

  "Cecilia said that?"

  "Yes." Lucie held the oil lamp close to Owen's face. "You find that difficult to believe?"

  Owen shrugged. "I knew she was hiding something. I suppose it is exactly what I suspected."

  "But you don't like her having done such a thing."

  "It is so cruel a thing." Truth was, he did not know what he felt about Cecilia, but he was disappointed in her.

  "It was a passionate act, Owen. She loved Will Crounce."

  "And not her husband?"

  Lucie was quiet.

  "Well?"

  "There was a time when you wondered how I could love mine."

  True enough. Owen decided to change the subject. "Do you think Martin is telling us the truth?"