The Lady Chapel

by Candace M. Robb

  But he could see that their plan to protect Jasper would not work without help.

  "We must tell Abbot Campian about our problem, Brother Wulfstan. We need assistance. You must admit that you cannot stay awake as long as you must. Perhaps our Abbot would allow us a novice to share watches with me."

  Wulfstan rubbed his eyes, looking sheepish. "You are right, Henry. Arrogance is my sin. I refuse to admit that I cannot protect the boy myself. But I shall not compound the sin by ignoring your good advice. I shall go to Abbot Campian at once."

  The Abbot sat reading near the fire in his hall, a candle on the table beside him. When he noticed Wulfstan, he closed his book and set it aside. "Come. Sit by me, old friend."

  Wulfstan settled himself with pleasure close to the fire. Though the arcade had protected him from the brunt of the storm, his toes were chilled by the damp walk from the infirmary. "God go with you, my Abbot." Wulfstan kissed the Abbot's proffered hand.

  Abbot Campian smiled, folded his long-fingered hands in his lap. "Now, my old friend, are you at last going to tell me what you and Brother Henry have been up to in the infirmary?"

  Wulfstan was startled. "How did you know?"

  "For six days I have seen but one or the other of you, never both together, at meals and services. Do you conduct some experiment that must be watched, I wondered."

  "Oh, no, nothing of the sort, no. It is the boy. Jasper de Melton. You know the boy's history? Why he is here?"

  Campian nodded.

  "Well it seemed to me that a certain guest, he told me his name was John--the one who burned his hand on Christmas Eve--he was too interested in the boy. Kept returning to visit him. So Henry and I set up a watch."

  Abbot Campian frowned. "John? Who burned his hand? I am not quite-- Oh. Would he have a bandage around the palm of the hand? Just a strip of cloth?"

  "That would be him."

  "Well now, you will be happy you have at last come to me. You are rid of him. I bid him a safe journey just after the midday meal. A woman came for him. They went off on fine horses. Very fine horses. But why do you call him John?"

  "That is the name he gave me."

  "How strange. I cannot think why he would lie to you. Unless he lied to me? The name he gave me was Paul." The Abbot frowned down at his white hands. He did not like disorder at St. Mary's. "I think we must say a prayer of thanksgiving that he has left the Abbey."

  Martin and Ambrose stopped in a small, modest inn at Alne for the night. It had been a cold, wet ride, and they were grateful for the fire and hot food. Especially the excellent ale. As Martin unpacked his saddlebag, he noted the name on the letter he carried for the Archbishop.

  "Why, what a piece of luck, Ambrose. It's going to Paul Scorby, the husband of Anna Ridley. The Scorby land is this side of Ripon."

  Ambrose rubbed a soothing lotion on his hands and pulled on gloves. The long, cold, wet ride and the stiff grip on the reins could wreak havoc on a musician's hands. "How do you know these Scorbys? More former employers?" His tone was biting.

  "Yes. Are you going to hold all of this against me forever?"

  "Would I be here if I were?"

  "I can hear the disapproval in your voice."

  "It will pass. What is the point about the letter being addressed to this Scorby?"

  "If we deliver it ourselves, we shorten our journey and perhaps he will know something of his father-in-law's affairs that will enlighten us. What do you think?"

  "It seems there is everything to recommend it."

  24/ Connections

  Owen stopped to pay his respects to Abbot Campian before going to the infirmary. To Owen's surprise, Campian invited him to share a hot drink made with various herbs. "It calms the spirit quite remarkably," the Abbot promised.

  "Is this one of Brother Wulfstan's remedies?"

  "It is indeed. God blessed Wulfstan with a gift for combining the fruits of the earth to heal mankind. But you will never hear my old friend brag of it. He is as modest a man as I've ever known."

  "Brother Wulfstan is one of the treasures of St. Mary's."

  Abbot Campian smiled and nodded. "I understand His Grace is already returned from the Christmas court. Does that not strike you as odd?"

  So that was why Campian was so friendly. Wanting information. "I was surprised to see him so soon."

  "Does he return in good humor?"

  "To be honest, he returned in a strange mood. But ours is not the sort of relationship that allows the questioning of such things. I have no idea what disturbs him."

  "Pity. It is so helpful to subordinates to know the cause of any unusual moods. But in my travels I have had occasion to ride with John Thoresby to the Great Council, and I have found him to be a private man."

  "No doubt he realizes that the eyes of the kingdom are upon him."

  Campian inclined his head. "No doubt." He put down his cup and rose. "Now I must detain you no longer. You are a busy man, I know, and anxious to see how young Jasper mends."

  Owen left the Abbot with a sense of relief. Although kind and much more a man of God than Thoresby, the Abbot watched the politics of York with an eagle eye. Owen always felt uncomfortable when he spoke with Campian, uncertain where the Abbot's questions led, but unable to circumvent them.

  Brother Wulfstan greeted Owen warmly. "You will be so pleased when you see how Jasper improves." The old monk led Owen to the pallet where the boy lay staring at the ceiling. Jasper glanced over at his visitor, then back to the ceiling.

  "Jasper! Have you no greeting for Captain Archer?"

  The boy stared at the ceiling.

  "Well, I cannot explain it," Wulfstan said, turning to Owen. "He has been so pleasant."

  "Perhaps if we spoke alone."

  Wulfstan nodded. "I have an errand that will not take long. You sit with the boy and chat."

  Owen pulled a stool up beside Jasper and sat down. "As Captain of Archers, 1 found it advisable to tell someone why I was punishing them. It made the punishment more effective."

  Jasper still stared at the ceiling.

  "Why are you punishing me, Jasper?"

  The boy frowned at the ceiling.

  "It is punishment to ignore me like this. I thought we'd become friends. Comrades in arms."

  "John told me why you were friendly to me."

  "And you don't like the reason? If that's true, then John, God rest his soul, was mistaken. Because I've never known a young man who did not want to be liked. And that's certainly why we're all so worried about you and anxious to have you back with us."

  "It's not because you like me. I'm to lure the murderers to you so you can catch them." Jasper still stared at the ceiling.

  "Lure the-- Sweet Jesu, do you believe we would do that, Jasper? Lucie and I tried to keep your presence in our house secret. Poor

  Tildy was scolded because she did not warn us that John had been coaxing you to go to your old lodgings."

  "I wanted to go. And I didn't want Tildy to tell."

  "If you had not gone there, you would not have met your tormentor."

  "And John would be alive," Jasper said in a shaky voice.

  "True, Jasper. Poor John. I cannot imagine why he was so set on your going there."

  "She talked him into it. She was his sweetheart."

  Kate Cooper---just as Tildy had suspected. "How do you know this, Jasper?"

  "She said so."

  "What else did she say?"

  The boy shrugged.

  "Please, Jasper. I want to find these people and stop them so you can be safe. Don't you see?"

  "So I can go back on the street."

  "No. I hope you come back to us."

  The boy looked over at Owen. "Why would you want me back?"

  "Because we miss you. All three of us."

  "Really?"

  "I have no reason to lie to you, Jasper. So--the sooner we unravel this knotty business, the sooner you can feel safe. What else did she tell you?"

  "She said she hated t
hem--Master Crounce and Master Ridley. As I should hate the men who killed Master Crounce, she said. I don't remember anything else. I was scared. Except she said Master Crounce meant to marry my mother." Jasper blinked and tears rolled down his pale cheeks.

  "Did she say anything about the man she's working with?"

  "Just that he wants me dead. That's why she wants to kill me."

  "Is she tall, Jasper?"

  He nodded. "For a woman. And she's strong."

  "Think about her holding the knife, Jasper. How did she hold it?"

  He lifted his right hand, as if holding a knife poised to stab, then shook his head and changed hands. "Like this. With her left hand."

  Owen leaned down and hugged the boy. "Excellent. It is just as I thought. We know who she is, Jasper. We are partway there."

  Wulfstan cleared his throat in the doorway. "I see you two have made up. I am glad. It is so distressing to part with a friend." He noticed Jasper wiping his eyes. "It is time to rest again, my son."

  Owen stood up. "I will come back soon to see if you're ready to come home, Jasper."

  Wulfstan moved a wooden screen beside Jasper's bed to block the light.

  The two men went across the room to the worktable, where there was some light from a small window. Wulfstan motioned for Owen to sit close to him. "I don't want the boy to hear."

  Owen sat down.

  "I must confess that I almost failed you, Owen."

  "You almost lost Jasper? Were his injuries that bad?"

  "Not lost like that. There was a man, a guest in the Abbey. He was far too keen to speak with Jasper. Henry and I stood watch over the boy until the man left."

  "Who was he?"

  "Now, that's one of the odd things about him. He told me his name was John. He told Abbot Campian his name was Paul."

  "Paul? Describe him to me."

  Wulfstan shrugged. "Middle height. Brown hair, brown eyes. Not unpleasant looking, except that he had an air about him, pouting. As if the world were a constant disappointment. Otherwise nothing remarkable."

  "Do you know anything about him?"

  "He claimed his wife had gone to the nunnery. Which is why he needed burn salve from me, had none of his own."

  "He'd burned himself? When?"

  "Christmas Eve. Sometime during the day. Is it important?"

  The day of the fire in Ambrose Coats's house. "It is all important, my friend. I think you speak of Paul Scorby. Though what he has to do with all this I cannot say." And yet--Cecilia had told Lucie that Paul Scorby and Kate Cooper were lovers. "I thank you heartily for keeping Jasper safe."

  "As I said, I almost failed you. God knows I deserve no thanks."

  "Did a woman come to visit this man?"

  Wulfstan nodded. "A woman came on horseback to get him."

  "How long was he gone?"

  "Abbot Campian says he is gone for good."

  Damn. "When did they leave?"

  "Yesterday."

  Owen was disappointed. "Was there anything else? Did he say why he wanted to speak with Jasper?"

  "He said Jasper looked so like his son. But I don't believe he has a son."

  "Why?"

  "He said something later about his wife being barren. So I asked if his son was by his former wife. He seemed confused, as if he'd forgotten his first lie."

  "What else did you notice about his manner besides his being disappointed with the world?"

  "Impatient. Nothing that he said, but his breath told me. You know, you can hear the impatience in the way some people breathe."

  "Does Abbot Campian know more about the man?"

  Wulfstan shook his head. "He did not seem to know which of the names we'd been given was correct--if either."

  Owen stood up. "I thank you, Brother Wulfstan. If the man should return, which 1 doubt that he will do, please get word to me at once."

  As Owen hurried out the Abbey gate, past St. Leonard's Hospital, he thought of Ambrose Coats. He stopped at the house in Footless Lane to describe to the wait the two people he must watch out for. But there was no one at home. A large orange cat mewed at the door. Owen headed home, anxious to talk this all out with Lucie.

  But she was busy in the shop when he arrived. Owen paced impatiently by the door. When the last customer had gone, Lucie turned to Owen, hands on hips. "Do you want to force all our custom away, pacing like that, making them nervous? You might have helped."

  He might have. He had been so wrapped up in the puzzle he was trying to piece together, he had not thought about his duties. "Forgive me. But we must talk. I need your thoughts on all that I've learned today."

  "Well it must wait. I have an order from Camden Thorpe, our Guildmaster if you recall, and I must fill it before I can sit down and chat. One of his sons is waiting in the back. Tildy's with him."

  "This is important, Lucie. People's lives may depend on my thinking this through."

  "People's lives? What do you think I deal with?"

  "Forgive me again. I see there is no pleasing you. I will go back in the kitchen and wait."

  "You will not. You will go upstairs and get the powdered emeralds."

  "Powdered--The Guildmaster can afford a physick made with emeralds?"

  "It's for Mistress Thorpe. She's lost a near-term babe, and her spirit seems to be draining with her every breath. So, you see, someone's life does depend on it."

  "Poor Camden. I'll get the powder."

  After they had sent young Peter Thorpe off with his mother's medicine, Lucie sank down onto a chair by the kitchen fire. Owen asked Tildy to pour them some ale.

  "You do have the strength to lift a tankard of Tom's ale?" Owen asked Lucie.

  She gave him a weary smile. "It will be nice to have some while we talk about your puzzle."

  "You were listening, even though your thoughts were on Mistress Thorpe."

  "Of course I was. Now tell me."

  Tildy hurried over with filled tankards. "Could I ask quick, Captain Archer? Is Jasper healing?"

  "He's much improved, Tildy. And I've told him we're waiting for him to come home."

  Tildy smiled happily. "I'll look forward to that, Captain."

  Owen toasted Lucie. "To the best apothecary in Yorkshire."

  Her eyes were sad. "I hope so, Owen. But it did not sound hopeful. Tell me what Jasper and Wulfstan had to say."

  When Owen had recounted it all, Lucie stared into the fire for a while. "Paul Scorby and Kate Cooper. Both connected to Ridley's household. How did Kate Cooper come to Riddlethorpe?"

  Owen thought back over what seemed a sea of information. "Crounce. Cecilia said that he had found a new Steward for her."

  "Will Crounce lived in Boroughbridge, which is close to Aid-borough, and both are close to Ripon. It is all tidy in that sense, but I cannot think what Paul Scorby would hope to gain. He would not inherit Ridley's business unless Matthew Ridley died."

  "Thoresby pointed out yesterday that Matthew has been strangely quiet, for the son of a murdered man."

  "And Cecilia told you that Matthew was taking over the business because he was more discreet about the King?"

  "Something like that."

  Lucie sighed. "It seems important, but I don't know what it might have to do with all of this."

  Owen shrugged. "I think we're still missing some important pieces."

  Lucie nodded. "We had better eat before I fall asleep."

  They had finished their meal and were sitting in front of the fire when someone knocked at the kitchen door. Lucie crossed herself. "Pray God it isn't bad news of Mistress Thorpe."

  Tildy opened the door. "Goodwife Digby!"

  "Captain and Mistress at home?"

  Owen got up to show Magda to a chair. She yanked her elbow from his solicitous grasp. "Magda needs no help to walk across a room, Bird-eye. Whence came such a notion?"

  "A lunatic strain in my family line, to be sure." Owen poured a small cup of brandywine and handed it to her. "To take off the chill. I trust you wil
l not reject this."

  "Nay, Magda's neither old nor foolish." She sipped, nodded her approval, looked at the waiting faces. "Mistress Thorpe will mend. They sneaked Magda into the city. Thou sent her a good physick, Mistress Apothecary. It will do her well. But Magda comes about other business. Not so pleasant. Felice d'Aldbourg's girl, Kate Cooper, was brought in on the tide this evening."

  "Drowned?" Lucie whispered.

  "Nay. Not like Magda's Potter. Though like in that it was no accident she was floating in on the tide face down. Her throat had been slit, and much blood drained before she hit the water."

  Owen went to Thoresby in the morning to tell him of Kate Cooper's death.

  "It's a bad business, Archer. Are you any closer to naming her accomplice? Her murderer, I suspect."

  "Does the name Paul Scorby mean anything to you?"

  Thoresby looked puzzled. "The name was familiar when 1 was asked to carry the letter, but I could not place it. Had you mentioned it?"

  "Of course I did. He's married to Gilbert Ridley's daughter."

  Thoresby stood up abruptly. "Dear God."

  "When who asked you to carry what letter?"

  "The Queen of Hell, Dame Alice Perrers. To her cousin, Paul Scorby of Ripon. The letter Martin Wirthir carries to my Dean, who will send it on to Scorby, 1 trust."

  "Perrers? My father-in-law spoke of the family at our wedding. Nobodies who'd suddenly found favor with the King."

  Thoresby sniffed. "Found favor? That is an understatement. But Wirthir had spoken of a family. ..."

  Owen nodded. "Scorby is in the wool trade," he said, more to himself than to the Archbishop. "Wirthir told me he'd betrayed a powerful family. He did not give the name because he said it was too dangerous, they were too favored at court at the moment. Could it be the connection I've been looking for? The Perrers family?"