by Candace Robb
‘Who is he?’ Lucie asked.
‘He’s a pilot on the Ouse?’ Alisoun asked. ‘I should think they were often nearly drowned.’
‘That is so.’ Bess crossed her arms, relaxing. ‘But not from the barges anchored at the Abbey Staithe, and not because one of the scholars of St Peter’s School pushed him overboard.’ She grinned at the surprise in both her listeners’ eyes. ‘Let us pray that he lives, or Captain Archer will be sent out to find the lad who pushed him in.’
‘I pray Jasper was not among them,’ Lucie said, worried because he was not yet home, though she could not imagine him doing such a thing. But neither could she imagine his fellows pushing a man overboard, and said so.
‘Ay, but this steersman had kept a scrip one of the scholars lost in their last skirmish onboard the barges,’ said Bess.
‘Jasper told me about that,’ said Alisoun. ‘Hubert de Weston. He’s a charity student at St Peter’s this year. His father was in a siege in France – all of our countrymen died there. The Spanish devils got them. Master Nicholas told us about it.’
‘La Rochelle?’ Bess asked.
Alisoun nodded. ‘Jasper said that Hubert was very upset when he lost the scrip.’
Lucie vaguely remembered hearing something about the incident from Jasper. ‘It sounds as if the lad can ill afford a loss like that. But why didn’t the boys send Master John to speak to the man?’
‘Why would they think he’d still have the scrip?’ Bess asked. ‘Sounds to me as if they just wanted to punish him, and it went much further than they’d intended.’
‘You keep saying “they”,’ said Lucie. ‘So it was not Hubert who pushed the man into the river?’
Bess hesitated, frowning as she considered all she had heard. ‘Everyone speaks as if the lad wasn’t there.’
‘What will they do to the boys?’ Alisoun asked.
‘I don’t know,’ said Lucie, distracted by her concern. ‘Owen might know what –’ She paused, hearing the street door.
Jasper stepped into the hall, red-faced from the cold outdoors. He took in the occupants of the room and then took a step backwards as if wanting to retreat. Lucie could imagine his discomfort with all their eager eyes fastened on him, and him most likely tired and hungry.
‘You’re just the man we need,’ Bess said. ‘Come, sit beside me.’ She patted the bench on which she sat.
Jasper shuffled towards the table with a glance towards Lucie that appealed for help.
‘Are you hungry?’ she asked. ‘Kate is feeding the little ones and I’m sure she’ll give you something. You’ve only to go ask her.’
But Bess was not to be cheated of hearing an account of the excitement from a potential witness. ‘Alisoun, why don’t you see to some food for Jasper while he rests his growing bones beside me?’
Alisoun grudgingly pushed herself away from the table and rose.
At that moment, Edric stepped into the hall through the garden door. Throwing a smile his way, Alisoun stepped quite cheerfully towards the doorway in which he stood, brushing against him as she slipped out to the kitchen.
Edric, for his part, did not turn to watch Alisoun depart, but was already bobbing his head in greeting to Lucie, Bess, and Jasper.
‘There’s much talk of someone almost drowning,’ he said with excited delight as he took the seat Alisoun had vacated. ‘Do you think Captain Archer will be the one to catch the guilty one?’
‘I pray that he isn’t,’ said Lucie. She wanted the baby to be welcomed by both its parents. ‘Was the shop busy this afternoon?’
‘Yes,’ said Edric. ‘The weather has folk sniffing and coughing, and their bones aching from the damp cold. I shut the shop to come eat something, but I promised several folk they might return later for their physicks. Why don’t you want Captain Archer to search for the one who pushed the pilot, Mistress?’
‘Because it’s dangerous work and keeps him away from home,’ Jasper snapped.
Edric blushed. ‘Oh. Of course.’
Bess glanced towards Lucie, lifting her eyebrows in curiosity. Lucie noticed, but did not meet her friend’s eyes, not wanting to irk either of her apprentices. Jasper had appeared so glad of Edric’s presence at first, but gradually he’d begun to behave as if he resented him, and that resentment seemed to have grown stronger and stronger, for no cause apparent to Lucie. Edric worked hard and deferred to Jasper’s long experience in the shop while also sharing the things he had learned from his former master. Now she wondered whether Alisoun was the thorn. That would be a great pity, for there was no remedying that sort of rivalry.
Still eyeing Edric, Jasper said, ‘You would not be smiling had you seen the man pulled from the water.’
‘Were you there?’ Edric’s eyes were alight.
Lucie suspected that he had no idea how Jasper felt about him.
‘Yes.’ Jasper turned to Lucie. ‘The captain has gone to the abbey infirmary to see the man’s wounds.’
Lucie inwardly groaned – Owen was involved.
‘Wounds?’ Bess murmured. ‘I hadn’t heard of wounds.’
‘Do tell us what you saw, Jasper,’ said Edric.
Jasper loudly sighed as he raked his straight, flaxen hair from his forehead. ‘There was a crowd, and I saw little. I only heard that Drogo had gone into the river. I did not see him until he was pulled out.’
Lucie wondered whether had Jasper not been there Owen might have avoided becoming involved. She wished the lad had kept his promise to stay out of the skirmishes between the scholars and bargemen.
Alisoun had returned with a tray of food, and cups for both young men.
‘So what of these wounds?’ Bess asked.
‘Someone had cut him on the face and neck, but most people did not see the cuts until they began to bleed.’ Jasper glanced at Alisoun and sat up straighter when he found her eyes on him. ‘Unfortunately Master Nicholas had just approached Drogo when his wounds began to bleed. The crowd began murmuring that he was a murderer.’
‘Heaven help us,’ whispered Lucie. ‘Why him?’
‘Because he was there when they saw the blood,’ said Jasper. ‘By then everyone was cold and tired and ripe for trouble. They’d been pushed around and their feet had been stepped on and their stomachs were growling. Rumours spread that didn’t need to make any sense once the people were ready to explode. So when they saw the blood I wasn’t surprised they cried out that Master Nicholas was a murderer even though Drogo’s still alive.’
‘My grammar master would never hurt anyone!’ Alisoun cried.
‘They’ve already hanged him in their hearts,’ said Bess, ‘especially Drogo’s fellow bargemen. They protect their own and they’re not gentle about it.’
All at the table crossed themselves, and grew quiet.
‘I did hear some good news,’ said Jasper, smiling at Lucie. ‘Hubert’s father and his lord are safely home in Weston.’
‘God be praised,’ said Lucie.
Later, after Edric and Jasper had returned to the shop and Alisoun had retired with the children, Bess said to Lucie, ‘I thought Jasper was for the monastery. Did his calling die with Brother Wulfstan?’
‘He still speaks of it, but now it is usually as a threat when he feels unappreciated.’ Lucie smiled, remembering how she’d mourned that such a handsome young man would close himself off from the world. ‘I have some doubt that he has a true vocation.’
‘Not with the way he looks at Alisoun,’ said Bess.
Indeed. ‘This evening it appeared as if her heart lies elsewhere,’ said Lucie. ‘I am both relieved and sorry for that. Poor Jasper.’
‘Aye, but she would be a difficult partner, wilful and moody.’
‘He sees none of that. But what do you think of Edric’s behaviour? I didn’t notice his eyes lingering on her.’
Bess shook her head. ‘No, they linger on his mistress. And don’t pretend to me that you’ve not seen that.’
Of course Lucie had noticed, and God help he
r but in her clumsy stage of pregnancy she enjoyed the flattery, though she took care to discourage it and keep Edric focused on his work. ‘He is under my roof, in my protection. I do not allow myself to fret about it, and Owen is blind to it – at least he seems to be. Faith, he sees little of Edric, which is for the best.’ In fact it felt to Lucie that Owen saw little of her, which was not for the best. She did wish he were not away so often, that Thoresby did not rely on him so much. When Lucie had been pregnant with Gwenllian, their firstborn, Owen had taken pains to tell her how beautiful she looked, how she still stirred his desire, how excited he was about the life they had begun. Now he seemed merely worried about her health and relieved when she reassured him that she felt well.
Smiling, Bess patted Lucie’s hand. ‘Owen would understand, I think. Edric is comely, but to his elders he’s coltish, young and awkward.’ She tidied her cap. ‘Speaking of your handsome husband, I dare not linger until he returns. I’ve already stayed away from the tavern longer than is wise.’
‘God go with you, my friend. I pray the tavern is quiet.’
Bess chuckled. ‘If I thought it would be quiet I’d feel free to bide with you a while longer. The customers will be eager to recount what they saw and heard at the staithe and the abbey gate over and over, and it will take several tankards for most of them.’
Lucie walked Bess to the door and watched her turn towards St Helen’s Square. She felt restless now, not at all in the proper temper to work on the accounts. In the kitchen, she found Kate drowsing beside the hearth. She thought of her apprentices working into the evening. Jasper’s day had been long already, and Edric had been alone in the shop for long stretches. They might welcome her help for a little while.
She slipped past Kate and, taking an old cloak from a hook by the door, went out into the garden. Breathing in deeply, she felt the crisp air begin to revive her spirits. No wonder Magda advised her to walk outside as much as she found comfortable. She took the path through the garden to the apothecary. She found Edric in the workshop, hands on hips, considering an assortment of jars, a scale, and a mortar and pestle.
‘Dame Lucie, what a blessing that you’ve come.’ He drew up a stool for her at the work table.
‘Are you in need of my advice?’ she asked as she took a seat.
‘I am. I’m mixing a headache powder for the Master of St Leonard’s, but I’ve just noticed that there are three different mixtures for him.’
Sir Richard de Ravenser, the archbishop’s nephew, suffered from a variety of head complaints, varying in intensity. ‘How did his servant describe his condition?’
Edric made a face. ‘It was not his servant.’
‘His clerk Douglas?’
Edric nodded. ‘He’s threatened to return before I close up.’
Lucie thought it was the first sarcasm she’d heard from her new apprentice.
‘Douglas is an unpleasant man in the best of times,’ she said, ‘but when Sir Richard is ailing he’s desperate and so even worse than usual. How did he describe his master’s condition?’
‘Sir Richard is blinking against the light and wants nothing to eat,’ said Edric.
Lucie nodded. ‘Poor Sir Richard, that is his worst. Make him the third one, with the sleeping draught. I’d forgotten he’s been away, to court. I’m not surprised he used all he had and needs more. Double the recipe.’
She reached for a jar of sufficient size and felt Edric step close, his hands ready to catch her by her swollen waist if she stumbled. She was flustered by the scent of him, the warmth of his breath on her cheek. Perhaps he was merely concerned for a mother-to-be, not wooing her; in fact, that is surely what it must be. He had no doubt heard that she’d lost her last child in a fall. Turning round and handing him the jar, she said, ‘You are kind, Edric, but you must not fuss over me. After all, I am your master.’ She said it with a smile.
He blushed and moved aside. ‘I meant no disrespect, Mistress.’
‘I doubt you did, Edric.’ Perhaps she needn’t have said anything, but if it had flustered her what might he have felt. He must learn propriety. ‘Do not make Douglas wait,’ she reminded him, then moved on into the shop to assist Jasper.
She was glad to find him intent on listening to a customer’s lamentations regarding his bowels. Not that the subject was pleasant, but Jasper seemed himself, as if he’d already shrugged off the event on the river.
Later, back by the fire in the hall, Lucie remembered her apprentice’s gesture and wondered whether he understood the difference between feeling protective of a woman and feeling attracted to her. He was so young, so earnest – so charming. She knew that it was just such a complication that worried some of the guild members about her being a master apothecary, with male apprentices. Most likely because Jasper was her adopted son, he’d never seemed confused about his relationship with her. But Edric – she was unsure how to know whether she was reading too much into his behaviour or not enough. After all, Bess had noted it. That worried Lucie. But she need not fear that Owen would notice. She wished he were less protective of her and more flirtatious and affectionate. She felt huge and unlovely. A passionate kiss would go a long way towards brightening her spirit.
Two
PUZZLING
CONNECTIONS
The near drowning and a priest and schoolmaster suspected by the gossips of attempted murder brought many to the York Tavern that evening. Bess’s husband Tom growled about her long absence when she returned from Lucie’s house.
‘You’d be more than a little angry if I’d disappeared just as half the city arrived thirsty and cranky with frostbitten fingers and toes,’ he grumbled.
She hugged him, and as she stepped back noted his bemused expression. A hug was the last thing he’d expected from her. She was suddenly poignantly aware of his sagging jowls and swollen eyelids and thanked God he came from a long-lived family.
‘The fire’s smoking,’ she said. ‘See to that while I fill tankards.’
He nodded and pushed a pitcher towards her. ‘It’s plain I’ll be brewing again this week.’
Bess noticed a pair she knew to be abbey bargemen in the corner and made her way towards them in the hope they might be in a mood to talk. Heads bowed, they seemed like two monks in church this evening, quiet and solemn-faced.
‘Have you news of the pilot?’ she asked as she stood over them unnoticed, another clue to their mood.
Bart shook his shaggy head, and as he raised his tankard for a refill he surprised Bess with such a grief-stricken look that she almost spilled some of Tom’s best ale.
‘You are good friends with the man who almost drowned?’
‘My wife and I are godparents of his lasses,’ he said. ‘I was the one to tell his good wife of the accident. I had to repeat it because she just couldn’t believe what I was saying, and then she screamed and frightened the little ones. I pray he recovers. I’ve got a knot in my belly that all the ale in York won’t loosen.’ He took a long drink.
It wouldn’t be for lack of trying, Bess thought as she made sympathetic noises.
‘Had he been but a little later returning today it wouldn’t have happened,’ said the other.
‘Aye.’ Bart nodded. ‘Hal’s right. He came just before those cursed scholars. Pampered pets.’
Hal winced at his friend’s words. ‘I don’t think we can really blame them,’ he said. ‘Drogo didn’t look right when he walked up to me. He was rubbing his eyes like he couldn’t see clear. I think there was blood on his hands. He asked me for some water. By the time I fetched it, he was in the river.’ He crossed himself.
‘Blood on his hands?’ Bess thought that significant. ‘But you aren’t certain?’
Hal held up his own hands. ‘We can never get off all the pitch or the river filth.’
It looked as if all the creases on his hands were picked out in black, as well as the greater part of the joints. ‘I see,’ said Bess.
‘Those scholars are still the ones pushed him in,�
� Bart growled.
‘We don’t know that,’ Hal maintained. ‘If Drogo was sickening, a nudge might have sent him in, the barges were rocking so with all the folk moving about. I’m not easy blaming the lads.’
Bart grunted.
‘What if someone in the city is after bargemen, and not just Drogo?’ Hal added, frowning down at his tankard, then up at Bart.
‘Why would that be?’ Bess asked.
Hal shrugged. ‘Why Drogo?’
Bart snorted. ‘That’s what makes it plain the scholars did it. They’re angry about his keeping the scrip. He was a fool to do that. Why would he think the lad carried anything of worth in it?’
‘Because he carried it with him that day?’ The words were out before Bess knew it. But if she did say so herself, it was unusual for a lad to go about wearing a scrip.
Hal held her gaze. ‘I’d not thought of that. But now you mention it, it is odd.’
‘If I have any more thoughts, I’ll let you know,’ said Bess. She leaned down to Hal and added in a low voice, ‘Watch your friend. I want no rowdiness tonight. Folk need to feel safe here.’
‘I’ll clear him out soon,’ Hal promised. ‘He’ll not wake happy as it is.’
As Bess moved on she tucked away the fact that Drogo had been thirsty and perhaps bleeding already when he’d arrived at the staithe, and the question of what Hubert de Weston had carried in his scrip. She could not follow the idea now for she needed full use of her wits to keep tab of how much of what folk were eating and drinking. Tragedy was good for business, as ever.
A man moved out from the shadows, blocking Owen’s access to the abbey infirmary. Owen cursed silently; when he’d entered the abbey grounds through the postern gate he’d thought he was alone. Drawing out his dagger – for it might be the would-be murderer intent on finishing his work, Owen called out, ‘Who goes there?’
The man moved closer so that Owen could see his hawk-nosed face. ‘It’s George Hempe.’
Relieved, Owen said, ‘I’m glad you’re here.’ Hempe was a city bailiff, and the very one Owen would have sent for. He’d disliked Hempe until they had been thrown together in an investigation the previous year and he’d learned that the man’s intentions were good despite his stubborn and brusque manner, that he earnestly wished to bring criminals to justice. Bailiffs usually saw their duties as keeping the immediate peace, not preventing future trouble. Hempe was not so short-sighted.