The Lady Chapel (30 page)

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 already 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?"

Lucie nodded. "So far as it goes--but he holds much back."

"I think so, too. Do you think he will come back?"

Lucie put the lamp aside and lay down again. "The next time the murderer moves, Martin will come to us. Let us hope he does not wait too long."

Owen sighed and lay down beside her. "It is difficult to wait."

Lucie pulled herself closer to him. "It is a chilly night."

He heard the invitation in her voice and turned toward her.

"When I opened the door and saw the body slung over Martin's shoulder, I feared it was you."

Lucie kissed him on the nose. "Forgive me for my thoughtlessness. But I'm here now, safe and sound, and wanting my husband."

She hugged him tight.

"Something is different tonight." Owen held the lamp over Lucie's face. She looked at peace, smiling. "What happened at St. Clement's?"

"I forgave myself."

"For what?"

She touched his scar. "For loving you more than Nicholas."

Owen put down the lamp and pulled Lucie over on top of him.

22/ Complications

Brother Wulfstan grumbled to himself as the guest appeared at the infirmary door for the second time in one day. "He still sleeps, my son. It may be many days before Jasper is strong enough to have visitors."

"Forgive me, but this time I come for healing."

"Are you ill?"

"Injured." The man held up a hand uncalloused by manual labor. Wulfstan squinted at the white hand. "I don't see--

"

The man wiggled a finger and pointed to the palm.

Wulfstan picked up a lamp and held it close to the hand. "I am afraid my eyes are weakening at an alarming rate. Is there perhaps a slight reddening?"

"I burned myself. A foolish thing. I was lighting a candle."

Wulfstan touched the spot on the palm. The man winced. Wulfstan felt blistering. The fingertip was the same. But the wounds were trivial, and, God forgive him, Wulfstan found the man's impatient breath irritating. "This is nothing at all. Surely you travel with a salve for such minor things."

"I would if I had a wife to pack it for me, but she took herself off to the nunnery for prayer weeks ago, and I have no one to see to such things while she's gone." He sounded like a petulant child.

Wulfstan told himself that courtesy toward this man could be offered up as a penance. He tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. "Does your wife pray for something in particular?"

"No. She needs no excuse for prayer. 1 told her to pray that God cure her of her barrenness."

Wulfstan wondered whether the man's wife was really praying that her husband might be called to God's side while she was away. Such thoughts. He was not doing very well with this penance. But to be so cold about his wife's childless state. Ah. That was odd. Earlier in the day he'd said that Jasper reminded him of his son.

"Then your son was the product of an earlier marriage?"

The man looked confused.

"The son who looks like Jasper?"

"Oh. Of course. My thoughts are muddled. My hand is beginning to throb. Yes, my son is the child of my first wife, who died in childbed." He shook his hand to indicate how hot it felt. "Perhaps if I could come in and sit down. I feel faint."

Faint from such a superficial wound? Wulfstan did not budge from his stance blocking the doorway. "What is your son's name?"

The man thrust out his jaw. "What does that have to do with anything? I came here to have you see to my hand."

"What is your name, for that matter?"

"John," the man barked.

"Wait here, John," Wulfstan said, closing the door. He did not want the man entering the infirmary. It would be more difficult to get rid of him. The man had made himself a pest the past few days. Ever since Jasper arrived. In truth, Wulfstan did not believe the man's name was John, or that this "John" had a son who looked like Jasper. Wulfstan spooned some ointment into a cup and took it back to the man. "Rub this into the burned areas several times a day. Do not use much, or it will get on everything you touch and soil it. You might wrap a strip of cloth around the palm. Go in

peace, my son." Wulfstan bowed his head and closed the door in the man's face. How sinfully delicious.

A while later, Brother Henry peeked in to see whether Wulfstan was ready to go to the refectory for the evening meal. "That man was here again," Wulfstan said. "The guest who pouts."

Henry laughed. "I've never known you to so dislike a man."

"It is not simply dislike. The man is too interested in speaking with Jasper. Says the boy reminds him of his son, but I do not think he has a son. If he did, and he were so fond of him that Jasper's likeness moved him as he says it does, he would not torment his present wife about her barrenness. And he lied about his name."