The Lady Chapel (34 page)

"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 will 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?"

"It is too likely to ignore." Thoresby paced back and forth.

"I doubt that Wirthir knows of Scorby's connection with the Perrers family. He would have mentioned it."

Thoresby was shaking his head. "I am such a fool. I handed the man his doom. We must ride to Ripon. Make sure that the Dean says nothing to Scorby about who carried the letter. Then we must go to Aldborough and warn Wirthir."

Owen stared at the Archbishop. "We must ride? You and I?"

"Who else at such short notice? Besides, it is my fault. Yes, damn it. You and I."

"But you are ill."

"In spirit, Archer, not in body. I will not let Perrers win this one. Come. We will ride this afternoon."

25/ Wirthir's Doom

A bright though chilly morning sun cheered Martin and Ambrose on their way. "I enjoy travel when the weather is so cordial," Ambrose said. "I can admire the countryside instead of hiding my face from the rain."

"At this time of year it's colder when the sun is out. I think I prefer the rain." Martin nodded toward Ambrose's gloves.

"And I hate wearing those things."

"And hats, I see. No wonder you're cold."

Martin reigned his horse in; Ambrose did likewise. Martin studied his friend's face. "Why are we talking about the weather?"

"I am trying to be civil today since you thought me unfriendly yesterday."

"Oh."

"So today you're the one who's glum."

"I have been thinking about the future."

"And it's gloomy?"

"If I'm not to continue in the career I've fashioned for myself -- which I was very good at, by the way--then what am I to do?"

"You enjoyed what you did?"

"Would I have been good at it otherwise? When a man plods at his work, it's because he hates what he does. For the rest of my life, I shall be a plodder."

"You can find something new. Captain Archer did."

"I have watched him down in St. George's Field, training the townsmen. Though he speaks to them patiently, his hands are clenched so tightly his knuckles are white. And he seems to detest the Archbishop. The only joy he has found is in his marriage."

"Ah. The fair Lucie Wilton. I admire her. She is skilled, willful, and beautiful."

"I'll bet there's marvelous sport in that bed."

They laughed and spurred their horses on, friends again.

The Scorby lands were more extensive than Ridley's, complete with a village and church. The house was older than Riddlethorpe, with a moat and drawbridge, but not as welcoming or as lovely. Though Martin had never been a guest at Riddlethorpe, he had managed to ride across the land and study the house--in case he needed to contact Gilbert in a hurry. Looking at Scorby's house, Martin guessed that money was spent less freely here. Perhaps less available.

Martin and Ambrose rode up to the gatehouse and stated their business.

The gatekeeper was a scarred old man who sported two daggers at his waist. Not a comforting type to meet with. "Masters Wirthir and Coats." The gatekeeper motioned toward Ambrose. "You wear the livery of the city of York. A bailiff? Or a constable?"

"Neither. I am a Town Wait."

"A musician. Good. We want no trouble here. But why not give me the letter and be off?"

"We would speak with Master Scorby, if he is at home," Martin said.

"He is indeed. I will just get Tanner to lower the drawbridge and take you to the Master."

A younger, but equally scarred man led them into the house. Three men sat by the hearth in the great hall, hunting dogs lying at their feet. One of the dogs, a black-faced giant, growled as Ambrose and Martin were announced. A brown-haired man, by his dress the master of the house, motioned them over. Martin noted that Paul Scorby's companions looked as battle-scarred and unfriendly as Tanner and the gatekeeper. He wondered whether he had been so clever to come here after all. One of the companions placed a bench near Scorby. Martin and Ambrose sat.

"I understand you carry a letter for me," Scorby said. He was a handsome man, good features, though there was a wildness about the eyes that made one look again and proceed with caution. He

carried his trim figure with a weary arrogance. He was not a fighting man by the look of his face and hands, though one hand was bandaged. The costly fur on his tunic and long, curling toes on his shoes spoke of one who enjoyed luxury and let others do the dirty work.

Martin handed Scorby the letter. "I hoped to ask you about your recently deceased father-in-law while I was here."

Scorby glanced at the seal on the letter and grinned, then turned his attention back to Martin and Ambrose, looking them up and down. "I've heard your name in connection with my father-in-law, Wirthir. But you, Coats? What was your business with Gilbert Ridley?"

"I am traveling with my friend. I had no connection with Master Ridley."

"I see." Scorby shrugged. "Gilbert Ridley. Yes. We will talk of him after I have read this letter. Please share some spiced wine with my men while 1 retire to read this. 1 would offer you more, but my wife grew too holy for this household and took herself off to a nunnery. Things are still confused beyond help."

Martin did not wish to spend any more time with Scorby's men than he had to. "It would take but a moment to discuss my business. Could we not talk now? I need not tax your household at all, then."

"No, no. There's plenty wine. You see, it is a letter from my fair cousin. A letter I have awaited for some time. I shall attend you much better after I have satisfied my curiosity."

Reluctantly, Martin and Ambrose accepted wine from Scorby's surly companions. Martin had a bad feeling about all this and contemplated the room silently. Ambrose tried to engage the men in conversation, but even his considerable charm failed to elicit a smile or a cordial word from the men. The four sat and waited, Martin and Ambrose exchanging worried glances, the retainers glaring alternately at the door through which Scorby had disappeared and at Martin, the three dogs breathing loudly and snorting in their unpleasant dreams.

At last, as footsteps sounded outside the door, the two companions rose. Thank God, Martin thought, Scorby is returning. But, to Martin's dismay, the men shouted to the dogs, and the monsters

leapt upon Martin and Ambrose, knocking them back off the bench and trapping them under their huge paws. They stank of raw meat and urine. Scorby's men tied Martin's hands behind his back and tied his legs, then did the same to Ambrose.

"Please, please, my hands. Do not cut off the blood to my hands," Ambrose begged them.

The retainers laughed and called off the dogs.

"You might sit them back on the bench," Scorby said from the doorway. He sounded delighted. As if this were sport. Tanner stood next to him.

Martin growled as he was heaved unceremoniously onto the bench. "What is the meaning of this? We come here in good faith, delivering a letter that you might have received much later had we left it with the Dean of Ripon as we'd been asked, and you have your men attack us? And tie us up? Are you mad?" He winced as they heaved Ambrose up on the bench next to him. Blood dribbled from Ambrose's mouth. "You're animals."