A Spy For The Redeemer (Owen Archer Book 7)

by Candace Robb

  ‘It was good of Master Moreton to join the search for my Aunt Phillippa yesterday evening.’

  ‘Poor Brother Michaelo sat here and told me of such wonders as he waited. He is a most patient man.’

  ‘Brother Michaelo?’

  ‘Goodwife Constance,’ Roger said from the doorway. His tone sounded a warning to the woman, who could not seem to remember that all the city did not need to know the details of her master’s life. Indeed, should not know some details.

  The goodwife curtsied and left the room.

  ‘Mistress Wilton.’ Roger bowed to Lucie.

  She held out the flowers, feeling a bit foolish now for the gesture.

  But Roger was his usual gracious self, praising their beauty, assuring her that he needed no reward. ‘Jasper did not require my assistance.’

  ‘I felt better knowing he was not alone,’ Lucie said. ‘But I am sorry you were late to receive Brother Michaelo.’

  ‘You are wondering about that.’

  She was also worried about it, seeing Roger’s smile fade. ‘What is it?’

  ‘See what friends we are, to read the other’s face.’

  Lucie imagined Jasper standing with her, hearing that. ‘You need not tell me what you discussed. I do not mean to pry.’

  ‘But it concerned you. His Grace the Archbishop wants to know more about Harold Galfrey. I fear I did not impress the archbishop’s secretary with my confession that I knew little of the man. I intend to discuss him with John Gisburne.’

  Lucie prayed she had not been foolish to trust Harold. She did not need more trouble. ‘I shall be grateful to hear what Gisburne says. The Riverwoman is also concerned about Harold.’

  Roger threw up his hands. ‘Why does everyone suddenly distrust him?’

  ‘I do not, Roger. I think Harold an excellent steward. Magda truly had all good things to say about what he has accomplished. But Gisburne’s servant Colby went to Freythorpe to see Harold the other day. He asked for him by name. He warned Harold about Nan’s son Joseph being close at hand. Would John Gisburne send that particular servant on such a mission?’

  It was plain from his expression that Roger was puzzled. ‘God forgive me for saying so, but it is not like John to trust Colby in such a thing, or indeed to be so thoughtful as to warn someone about a matter like this. I shall find out all I can. It is the least I can do.’

  Roger was such a good-natured, well-intentioned man. But Lucie was belatedly realising that his trusting nature could be a liability. It seemed an odd quality in a successful merchant.

  John Thoresby shifted his position on the stone seat. Old bones should not perch on cold stone. They would be down in the cold earth soon enough. The archbishop and Jehannes, Archdeacon of York, sat in the garden of the archbishop’s palace near the minster. Thoresby had put his servants to work airing out the great house. He grew weary of playing guest at Jehannes’s house, but the roof repairs at Bishopthorpe continued. So he had compromised by opening his house in the city. The sun this morning was warm enough to heat Thoresby’s head even through his hat, but the stone seat held the chill of the night and the morning dew. He would be sorry for this perch later. But he had wished to speak with Jehannes away from Brother Michaelo and yet be nearby if his secretary had any questions. Michaelo was occupied in the palace supervising the servants.

  Thoresby disagreed with Archdeacon Jehannes regarding what to do about Brother Michaelo’s sudden passion for penance. Jehannes believed it might be a sign of spiritual awakening and thus should be encouraged, or at least not discouraged. Thoresby had never had patience with the idea that self-inflicted beatings were the way to God. And with Michaelo it was particularly questionable.

  ‘He is much changed, Your Grace,’ Jehannes argued.

  ‘Not for the better. The journey to Kingston-upon-Hull to inquire about Galfrey will be good for Michaelo.’

  ‘Seeing to this house will surely be enough of a distraction. Another journey is cruel so soon after Michaelo’s return from Wales.’

  ‘He journeyed to Wales as a pilgrim. This will remind him he is a representative of the Archbishop of York and as such has duties that require him to have his wits about him.’

  ‘Such devotion should be encouraged in him, sire. He is a monk.’

  ‘Of course he is. But that never bothered him before.’

  Thoresby saw Jehannes struggle to hide a smile. Good. The man had been distracted from his pious protest. Michaelo was off to the Godwin manor at Kingston-upon-Hull on the morrow and that was the end of it.

  ‘Why are you disturbed about this man Galfrey?’ Jehannes asked. ‘Mistress Wilton’s message mentioned that the manor was well guarded and that work had already begun on the repairs. The man may be unknown to you, but he sounds a worthy steward.’

  ‘I merely wish to know. And Michaelo is idle. Three days, I should think. Another might ride there in one, return the next, but he will take a leisurely pace. Mark me.’ Thoresby rose, his bones demanding a change. ‘Let us see how the work progresses.’

  It was early afternoon when Thoresby could at last sit in the hall of the palace and reacquaint himself with the atmosphere of the house. It was not so pleasant as Bishopthorpe, but it had a grandeur and a sense of the past that he had always found to his liking. He heard Brother Michaelo explaining the value of careful work to a servant who had disappointed him. Perhaps opening up the palace had been sufficient to pull Michaelo from his foolishness. Now if Archer were here, life might be pleasant once more. He would arrive soon enough, surely. And it must be soon. The palace roof was in terrible condition. Someone must speed the work along at Bishopthorpe, then move the workmen here.

  Thoresby was considering Michaelo’s ability to oversee that work when a servant announced Roger Moreton. The name was familiar. The face, however, was not – solid, flushed, handsome in a common sort of way. The man wore the livery of the Merchants’ Guild. Wealth here, new wealth. But who was he to Thoresby? The archbishop rose, offered his ring to kiss. The man dropped to his knees, kissed the ring. Clean fingernails, excellent workmanship on the felt hat. Good boots.

  ‘Benedicte, Master Moreton. How can we help you?’

  ‘Your Grace. I should perhaps see Brother Michaelo. But he said last evening that it was Your Grace’s concern about Mistress Wilton’s property that led him to make inquiries about Harold Galfrey.’

  Ah. So this was the neighbour with good intentions. ‘It is my concern, as godfather to Mistress Wilton’s and Captain Archer’s two children. Do you have more information than you were able to offer last evening?’

  ‘I have just come from John Gisburne’s house, Your Grace.’

  John Gisburne. A wealthy merchant of questionable character who had yet to pledge any funds towards the completion of the minster. ‘Was Gisburne of any assistance to my inquiry? Do take a seat, my good man. I shall have a sore neck if I look up at you much longer.’

  Roger Moreton glanced round, chose a comfortable chair, nodded to the hovering servant to place it closer. Thoresby approved. A man who knew his worth. Perhaps his judgement could be trusted in the choice of a steward.

  ‘See what refreshment might be had,’ Thoresby told the servant. ‘And ask Brother Michaelo to join us.’ The archbishop was curious about the man who had been such a friend to Mistress Wilton. A widower living next door to a handsome, wealthy woman of high esteem in the community, a woman wed to a man beneath her who was lingering far too long in Wales. Did Roger Moreton entertain hopes that Archer had indeed deserted his family as the rumours would have it? ‘You have proved a good friend to Mistress Wilton,’ Thoresby said.

  Moreton frowned. ‘My Christian duty, Your Grace.’

  ‘The loan of your cart, your horse, your steward? That seems more than Christian duty from even the broadest of interpretations.’

  A blush, but Moreton’s eyes did not flicker. He was not a timid man. ‘Mistress Wilton was a great help to me when my wife lay mortally ill.’ He was quiet a momen
t. ‘I have no need of my steward at present, Your Grace. But it is about him that I came.’

  Brother Michaelo entered the room. Thoresby motioned him to a chair.

  ‘The servants will bring refreshment, Your Grace, Master Moreton. They –’ Michaelo pursed his lips, shook his head slightly. ‘Forgive me. You do not want to hear of it.’

  ‘Not at present,’ Thoresby agreed. ‘Master Moreton comes to us from a conversation with Master Gisburne regarding Harold Galfrey.’

  Michaelo tucked his hands up his sleeves and leaned back to listen. Thoresby inclined his head towards Moreton. ‘Now. If you would tell us what you learned about Galfrey.’

  The merchant cleared his throat and turned his eyes to the floor. ‘I do believe that Master Gisburne imposed upon our friendship when he urged me to see Harold Galfrey. Harold is apparently Gisburne’s distant cousin and counted on this relationship when he arrived in York with no letters of introduction, those having been stolen.’

  ‘You said apparently his cousin,’ Thoresby noted. ‘One either is or is not.’

  ‘I chose the word intentionally, Your Grace. In fact, Gisburne had never met the man and Harold knew no one in the city, so Gisburne took him at his word.’

  Thoresby did not like what he was hearing. ‘Did he write to his relations to verify the man’s claims?’

  ‘No, he did not, Your Grace. But he said that had he any cause to doubt them he would so have written. When I mentioned Colby’s visit to Freythorpe Hadden –’

  Brother Michaelo sat forward. ‘What visit?’

  It appeared Michaelo knew this name, Colby. Moreton explained the visit, concluding with an interesting piece of information – Master Gisburne had been surprised to hear of the incident.

  Master Moreton, it seemed, had learned how much he did not know. Thoresby thought the two untrustworthy servants were of interest.

  ‘We must write another letter to the High Sheriff before you depart,’ Thoresby said to Brother Michaelo.

  ‘Are you leaving York again so soon?’ Moreton asked pleasantly.

  ‘He rides to Kingston-upon-Hull tomorrow, to the manor at which Harold Galfrey last served,’ Thoresby said, not wishing Michaelo to emote at this particular moment.

  Moreton looked keen. ‘You head for the Godwins?’

  Michaelo nodded.

  ‘Might I accompany you?’

  ‘Why should you wish to do so?’ Michaelo asked. He had become quite a cautious man of late. Thoresby approved that change.

  ‘I should have investigated the man’s character before recommending him to Mistress Wilton.’

  ‘But you did not,’ Thoresby said.

  Moreton flushed. The man deserved no delicacy. ‘I wish to make some atonement.’

  Apparently Michaelo pitied Moreton. ‘I should welcome a companion,’ he said gently. ‘It is a long journey to make with only a servant.’

  The discussion had become tiresome. Thoresby wished to withdraw to his parlour to consider what he might do to improve the palace, not arrange companions for his secretary. He rose. The two men also rose.

  ‘If you can ride tomorrow, I have no objection to your accompanying my secretary. I shall leave you to make your arrangements. I thank you for your information, Master Moreton, and look forward to even more on your return.’ Thoresby bowed himself out of the hall.

  After Kate took Gwenllian and Hugh to bed, Lucie, Jasper and Phillippa sat round the small table in the kitchen near the fire. Though the day had been warm when Lucie took the flowers to Roger, the evening was chilly. Jasper sat slumped over the table, picking at a splinter on the edge. His hair hung over his eyes. Lucie knew the cause of his pout. Upon returning from his interview with Thoresby, Roger Moreton had offered them his donkey cart for the journey to Freythorpe, but asked that they wait until he returned with more information about Harold Galfrey.

  ‘Be patient, Jasper. You will go to Freythorpe,’ Lucie said. ‘It is not Master Moreton’s cart we await. I wish to know more about Harold Galfrey so I might advise you.’

  Jasper said nothing. He had already voiced his certainty that Lucie and Roger would find reasons to keep him in York. No one considered him man enough to make the journey.

  Phillippa, too, was glum. She wished to accompany Jasper to Freythorpe. Lucie had firmly refused. This was one request she could not grant Phillippa.

  ‘But you would help us by telling us all you remember about the parchment,’ Lucie had said. ‘Anything you can recall about your husband’s activities at that time, anything about that time at all.’

  Dame Phillippa had been tidier and more coherent for the past few days. Lucie hoped that perhaps she had recovered from the shock of the raid on the manor and was more herself.

  ‘At times the past is clearer to me than the present,’ Phillippa had said. ‘But I have tried to forget Douglas Sutton.’

  It was Jasper who brought up the subject again.

  ‘Why did you want to forget your husband?’ Jasper asked. ‘Was he a bad husband?’

  ‘No, lad, he was as good a husband as he could be. And I loved him. And my baby, my Jeremy.’ Tears fell on to Phillippa’s knobbed and wrinkled hands.

  Jeremy had been Lucie’s cousin, never met. Dead before she was born.

  Jasper put a hand over one of Phillippa’s. ‘I have some ideas about where you might have hidden the parchment.’

  Looking up expectantly, Phillippa wiped her eyes with her free hand. ‘Tell me. Perhaps they will help me remember.’

  ‘It was once in the tapestry you brought from your home, so perhaps you moved it to another?’

  Phillippa shook her head. ‘I worried even then about the damp and someone tearing it. I would not have put it in another such place.’

  ‘Beneath a chair seat?’

  The old woman chuckled. ‘Clever lad. I am not so clever.’

  Lucie tiptoed away to see whether Kate needed her help. When she returned, Phillippa was talking of the Scots raids into Yorkshire three years after her marriage. Jasper sat transfixed, imagining himself fighting the Bruce, no doubt.

  ‘The destruction was so horrible that many a lord with lands in the north and many a town paid the Bruce to go away,’ said Phillippa, ‘or to spare their lands. I cannot remember which lords, which towns. We had no such money – the Suttons had land, but they had fallen on hard times. I was at home, frightened for my family – I was with child during that terrible spring and summer. The rumours terrified me. Douglas was often away.’

  ‘Fighting?’ Jasper asked.

  ‘He had fought with Archbishop Melton’s forces at Myton-on-Swale. That was a massacre. Our men were not trained as soldiers. Clergy, most of them. The Scots had their way with them and it was bloody. But Douglas survived. I nursed his wounds. And then we were wed.’

  ‘You wed him because he had been brave?’ Jasper asked.

  ‘My father allowed it because he had been brave,’ said Phillippa. ‘Before the battle I had been forbidden to see more of Douglas. My brother Robert had never liked him, neither had father.’

  Lucie had never known her grandfather. She slipped back into her seat to hear the rest. But Phillippa’s eyes were far away. Jasper gave Lucie a questioning look. She nodded and gestured for him to try again.

  ‘Aunt Phillippa,’ he said, ‘did Douglas Sutton fight again after you were wed?’

  She shook her head as she brought her gaze back to the present. ‘I do not know, lad.’

  ‘But you said he was often away.’

  ‘On business.’

  ‘And the parchment?’

  ‘After being away for days, sometimes weeks, he would return weary and quiet. But never as quiet as the day he brought the parchment. He returned much sooner than I had expected. He said it was because he was worried about me, it was near my time and I had lost our first two babes. He asked me to stitch a back on to a tapestry that had been his mother’s. I did not want to, but he said it was a good place to hide things from the invaders
. So I stitched, leaving a space open at the top. I finished just before our baby was born. We christened him Jeremy, after the neighbour who was his godfather.

  ‘While I lay with little Jeremy I heard someone come to the house, argue with Douglas.’ Phillippa rose from her chair, groping for her cane. Jasper rose and handed it to her. She glanced round, seemingly confused. ‘My chest. Where is my chest?’

  ‘Up in the bedchamber, Aunt,’ said Lucie. ‘Do you want Jasper to fetch it?’

  Phillippa leaned on the cane with her right hand, her left hand pressed to her eyes. She shook her head. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘I burned the clothing long ago. I do not know why I thought of that.’

  ‘Would you like something to calm you?’ Lucie asked, putting an arm round Phillippa, who was shivering. ‘Come back to the fire.’

  Phillippa shook her head, pulled out of Lucie’s grasp. ‘When you know what I did you will not forgive me.’

  Jasper pulled a chair near the fire, more comfortable than the bench by the table. ‘Sit here, Aunt. Tell us. We must know everything if we are to protect the people at Freythorpe now.’

  ‘You are right, lad. Mother in Heaven, you all suffer for my sin. I had forgotten so much – but that man – seeing him –’

  ‘Who?’ Lucie asked.

  Phillippa did not seem to hear Lucie’s questions as she let Jasper help her into the chair. Or perhaps she was lost in the memory. ‘The sounds coming from the other room frightened me. Jeremy began to cry. I nursed him – oh, I have oft thought my fear curdled my milk and that is what killed my little one. Or his father’s guilt.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Later Douglas came to see me. He had changed his clothes. I asked him why he had changed clothes in the middle of the day. He was pale, quiet, sat down beside me, took Jeremy’s tiny hand in his, kissed the baby’s forehead. Something was wrong, I knew. But he just sat there, his head bowed.

  ‘I crept from bed the next morning, very early, and found Douglas out by the barn, burying his clothing, I thought. What a waste of good cloth. No matter what the stain, some of the cloth would be of use. I stepped closer. It was a body.’ Phillippa lifted eyes dark with memory. ‘He said the man had already been mortally injured. It was his partner, Henry Gisburne, he said. They had been attacked, Douglas had left him for dead. He had not known Henry could have been saved. And now, after walking all the way to our house, Henry had died.’