The Riddle of St Leonard's (17 page)

Before either of them could focus on her, Alisoun flung open the door and ran out into the dew-drenched cemetery.

She cursed all men – thieves, liars and fornicators – as she stumbled across the mounds and out on to the common fields surrounding the village. A dog barked, perhaps the same one as last night, but she kept´ running. She must retrieve her horse and leave this curséd place. But where could she go? Where might one find sanctuary if not in a church?

Alisoun sank down in the grass and stared at the empty field. She had searched everywhere – the barn, the surrounding area. She had called and called. But the nag had been stolen. And she knew who had taken her. And the saddle. She should go after him, hunt him down, finish the work she had begun.

But for now all she could do was stare at the empty field and wonder why God so punished her.

Dame Constance escorted Honoria into the waiting area of the infirmary. The young woman had been scrubbing floors, and her veil was tucked into the neckline of her gown, her sleeves rolled up revealing slender forearms. She gave Owen a quizzical look as she curtsied respectfully. He had forgotten how lovely she was. The rumours about her had tarnished his memory.

‘Captain Archer wishes to speak with you, Honoria,’ Dame Constance said. ‘He represents His Grace the Archbishop. Look you show him respect.’

Two lay brothers bustled through the waiting room, eyeing the three with curiosity.

‘Is there a more private place we might talk?’ Owen asked.

Dame Constance pressed her hands together, glanced aside, thinking. ‘There is the gaol. You might speak in Honoria’s cell with a guard outside the door.’

‘You think she might escape me, Dame Constance?’

The nun coloured. ‘Her reputation, Captain Archer. I would not leave His Holiness the Pope alone in a room with her.’

Owen bit back a smile, nodded to Honoria to lead the way. Even the notorious Alice Perrers was trusted in a room alone with a man. What powers did they think Honoria possessed?

In her room, Honoria offered Owen the seat by the window. She perched on the edge of her bed, pushed her sleeves down, folded her hands primly in her lap, but her gaze was frankly curious, studying the scarred side of Owen’s face.

‘They say a
jongleur
’s leman did that to you.’

‘Aye, that she did. They say that you own clothing and goblets far too valuable for you to afford.’ Barker, the gatekeeper, had told him about the silks.

A grimace, but the eyes remained level. ‘You are quick-witted, Captain Archer.’

‘I try not to be so entertained by my wit that I forget my purpose.’

‘And what is that?’

‘To discover the truth about the recent thefts and deaths at St Leonard’s.’

Honoria tilted her head, smiled slightly. ‘You think I hold a key to these troubles?’

Too sly, Owen thought. ‘Why did you hide the goblets?’

A surprised laugh. ‘Is it not obvious, Captain? You see what has happened – precisely what I feared if someone saw them.’

‘You might have confided in Don Cuthbert. He has championed you before.’

Now she dropped her head, sighed. ‘You are right, of course. But I recognised my folly too late – after Dame Constance had asked us whether we had noticed anything unusual, and I said nothing.’

‘Your silence was no lie.’

She met his eye. ‘You heard what Dame Constance thinks of me. It is so with all the nuns here. In faith, they think all lay sisters base, with our partial vows and no education. But me …’ She shook her head sadly.

‘Don Cuthbert thinks differently.’

‘He did. I fear he does not now.’

‘You might have approached him. I should think it preferable to your present circumstance.’

‘I did not wish to make trouble for someone who has always treated me fairly. Don Cuthbert is not fond of Master Taverner.’

‘Taverner?’

‘It was he who gave me the goblets. Long before the ones in the guesthouse disappeared. You may ask him if that is not so.’

If she had meant to surprise Owen, she had certainly succeeded. ‘Julian Taverner gave you the goblets?’

‘Four years ago. As a wedding present.’

If Owen had ever known she was married, he had forgotten. ‘You are widowed, then?’

‘A year after we married my husband went off to be a soldier. Whether or no I am a widow I cannot say.’

‘You have heard nothing?’

Honoria shook her head. ‘I believe he lives. I believe that I would know if he were dead. And so I wait.’

‘As a lay sister?’

‘I was sent home to my father and his young wife, who did not like my presence.’

‘What is Julian Taverner to you?’

‘I was a servant in his household when he was still in the city. He said I was much like his daughter. He was kind to me.’

How kind did she mean, Owen wondered.

‘Are you wondering whether he bedded me, Captain?’

Owen deserved the discomfort he now felt. ‘You are considerate of his reputation.’

‘As I have said, he has been good to me.’

‘And yet now you deliver him up to me.’

‘You are a friend to Master Taverner’s niece. I thought I might trust you.’

Owen thought her response much too tidy. ‘You are so comfortable in gaol?’

‘You do not believe me.’

‘You are said to be a woman who likes her comforts.’

‘I cannot also be loyal?’

‘I shall consider that, Mistress Staines.’

Bess dropped her apron on the counter and hurried after the messenger. Her uncle was ill. Very ill. He had summoned her. Damn the selfish canons. They must have released him from his bed in the infirmary too soon. It was just the sort of neglect John Cooper had hinted about.

She found Julian in his bed, soaked in sweat, complaining of a raging thirst and yet pushing away the bowl of water his elderly servant Nate tried to hold to his lips. ‘Find Anneys!’ Bess shouted to the messenger, who had accompanied her to her uncle’s.

‘I sent for her,’ Nate said. ‘She was busy with a sick child.’

‘Then Honoria.’

‘I could not find her.’

‘Sweet
Jesu
. Then tell Anneys Master Taverner is dying. That should stir her.’

The messenger hurried out.

‘I have been—’

‘Save what little breath God has left you, uncle. I said that to get her here. Now try to drink some water.’

She told Nate to fetch Brother Wulfstan from St Mary’s Abbey.

‘You see, uncle? I would not summon such help if I believed you to be dying.’ Though she feared she was doing just that.

What frightened Bess as she held a cup of watered wine to her uncle’s lips was the thundering of his heartbeat. It was as loud as if she had her ear pressed to his chest. ‘Uncle, you must try to lie back, calm yourself. Your heart.’

He blinked and wiped at his eyes as if the sweat blinded him. ‘Bess?’

‘I am here.’

‘Does he—’ He shook his head, gasping for air. ‘Does he live?’

‘Who?’

Julian blinked, reached his bandaged hands to his eyes. As Bess was about to restrain him, he dropped his hands to his sides. ‘They died for him. Was that not enough?’ He could manage only a whisper, but he seemed more coherent.

‘Who died? For whom?’

Julian jerked his head up, blinking. ‘Bess?’ His bloodshot eyes did not seem to be focused on her.

‘Can you not see me, uncle?’

He turned towards her voice, frowning fiercely. ‘Beware.’

‘Of whom?’

His bandaged right hand shot up, beat against Bess’s shoulder. She grabbed him by the wrist and held him still so that he would not injure his burned hand.

‘Or is it her?’

‘Who?’

‘I have been poisoned, can you not see that?’ Julian broke out of her grasp and tried to rise from the bed, but he was so weak she was able to push him down on the pillows. The effort had exhausted him. He lay still, his breath ragged and shallow.

Bess had long ago discounted the popular notion that someone was inflicting the pestilence on enemies by poisoning wells. Not all who drank from the same well sickened; nor did she think that one person could hate so many and not be consumed by his own hatred. ‘Rest, uncle. I doubt you have been poisoned. I am here to help you.’ She filled a bowl with vinegar and now and then dipped her hands in it to keep her uncle’s diseased sweat from seeping through her pores. But as she worked along his body she found no pustules. Neither did he cough. He burned with fever, his skin was flushed and dry, his eyes seemed to be failing and he went in and out of senselessness and panic, but only the fever seemed familiar to the pestilence. Might she be wrong about his ailment? ‘What happened, uncle?’ she asked gently. ‘Why do you speak of poison?’

Julian shook his head. He stared at her with wild eyes while he drank water, gulped air, and at last managed, ‘Penance. Not enough. Laurence. Me.’ He shook his head. ‘He waited so long. Or she.’

Bess was puzzling over those words when Julian sat up, clutching at his heart, tearing at his throat as if to open it for air. She threw herself across him to restrain him and was struggling to reach a sheet on the floor with which to bind him when Owen appeared. Between them they were able to restrain Julian.

‘What has happened here?’ Owen asked when Julian was quiet.

Bess was about to speak when Anneys appeared with the messenger.

‘Is it true? That he is dying?’

Bess crossed herself. ‘Listen to his heart. I do not know what causes it to pound so.’

Anneys sank down on a stool. She looked most pitiful. ‘Dear God, if he dies I blame myself.’

‘Now why would you do that? You have been good to him.’

‘I hesitated when he needed me.’

As if she were the only one caring for Julian. ‘I hope that my ministrations have not been without merit.’

Julian began to moan. Both women hurried over. ‘Bess?’

‘I am here, uncle. And Anneys with me.’

‘God forgive me.’

‘Come, uncle. Take some water.’ Bess lifted Julian’s fevered head.

Anneys handed her a bowl of water. ‘His heart beats so loud.’

‘I said so. Come, uncle. Cool water.’

But he shut his eyes and dropped his head to the side. Bess lowered him. And with a shudder, he ceased to breathe. The horrible pounding stopped.

Anneys let out a cry. Bess knelt down beside the bed, staring at her silent uncle in shock. He had been a robust man. His injuries had not been mortal. How could he be dead? She pressed her head to his chest. Silence.

Owen knelt beside Bess, closed Julian’s eyes. ‘He is with God.’

‘Mistress Merchet?’ A monk bent over Bess, his youthful face creased in concern. He made the sign of the cross over Bess and Julian. ‘I am Henry, Brother Wulfstan’s assistant. I came as soon as I might.’

‘God bless you for coming,’ Bess said, ‘but you are too late. My uncle is dead.’

‘Has he been shriven?’

‘I had no time to send for one of the Austins,’ Bess said. ‘It happened too quickly.’

‘His soul may yet linger.’ Brother Henry bent to Julian, called out his name. When he received no response, he glanced up at Bess. ‘Shall I say the prayers?’

‘I would be most grateful.’ She was not fond of the canons of the hospital.

Brother Henry intoned the prayers for the dead and anointed Julian.

‘He must be buried quickly,’ Anneys said when the monk stepped back from the death-bed. ‘We must prepare him.’ She was her calm self once more, shaking out a clean sheet.

‘Why such haste? He did not die of the pestilence. There is naught to fear,’ Bess said.

‘I think that it was pestilence, and so do you. Why else would you have had the bowl of vinegar by your side?’

Bess glanced at Owen, who shook his head. She stayed her tongue.

‘I shall tell Don Cuthbert what has happened,’ Owen said, hastening out.

As Bess entered St Helen’s Square, her cap askew and the stench of her uncle’s sweat all over her, his thundering heartbeat echoed in her head. What horror had pushed it to such an extreme? Poisoning. Penance.
He waited so long
. That had been no pestilential fit. Was it possible that he was right, that he had been poisoned? She had seen enough die of the great mortality that she knew it took its victims in many ways, but none like that.

‘Good day, Mistress Merchet. Are you well?’

Bess had not noticed Alice Baker standing by Wilton’s apothecary, eyeing her with interest. ‘Forgive me. My mind was far away.’

‘You look tired.’

‘God help me, so I am, Mistress Baker.’

Alice Baker shook her head. ‘I see you carry no protection.’

‘I shall remedy that at once.’ Bess nodded to the woman and stepped inside the shop.

Lucie glanced up from a customer, took in Bess’s state. ‘Jasper!’ she called. The boy came through the beaded doorway. ‘Forgive me, Master Tyler,’ Lucie said to her customer. ‘I must see to a friend in need. Jasper will finish this.’ She nodded to Bess to follow her to the back.