The Riddle of St Leonard's (21 page)

Beneath the child’s tree, Magda paused, shading her eyes against the sun as she peered up into the branches. A dirty foot confirmed her suspicions. ‘Magda has returned thy property. Thou shouldst not be so generous, child, to loan a stranger thy horse, be he wounded or no. Magda lives beneath the dragon ship upriver from York. Thou canst find her there.’

Her mission accomplished, Magda took her way home.

Owen held the dark red knight in his palm, felt its heft. ‘Fine ivory. Heavy. How would a set of such pieces be removed without the servants noting it, I wonder? Where was the set kept?’

Ravenser had retired to his room with a headache. Douglas had been offered as a guide. The plump clerk indicated a trunk on the opposite side of the room, near the window. ‘On that trunk, but the side farthest from the window.’

‘I was not thinking the thief reached in for it. Standing so at a window, reaching in for each piece, a man would be noticed.’

Douglas ducked his head. ‘Of course.’

Owen had not meant to embarrass the man. He liked Douglas. The man had so far dealt with him without guile. ‘Be thankful you have no need to think of such things.’

‘To be observant is a skill one might use for many tasks.’

‘Where were the candlesticks?’

‘By the door,’ Douglas said, pointing towards a shelf conveniently placed for one entering the room to set down or pick up a light.

‘Can you show me from where the other items were taken?’

‘Some of them. A few the cellarer will need to show you. The blankets, for example. But I can show you where items disappeared from in the church.’

Vespers over, Don Cuthbert headed to his garden. That morning he had encountered two black rats on the path, their snouts twitching with delight over an early apple, a bruised windfall that should have been found long before it rotted and attracted the noxious creatures. Cuthbert had ordered a servant to search for any more rotting fruit hidden beneath the foliage in the vegetable bed. As he approached, he noted a dark-gowned figure hurrying away from him and bristled with indignation. Did she think to escape his inspection? No doubt she had idled away the afternoon. He strode into the garden, fists clenched, ready to give battle.

But it was the lay sister Anneys who turned as he called out. She clutched a dark bundle and looked ill at ease. As she should. Lay sisters were not invited to walk in this garden.

‘
Benedicte
, Don Cuthbert.’

‘
Benedicte
. Might I ask what errand brings you into the cellarer’s garden?’

She held her burden out to him. It was a leather pouch. ‘I noticed this as I walked past. Lying in the path. I thought someone had dropped it, but then I discovered no one about.’

Cuthbert held out his hands. ‘I shall take it. Now if you would—’

Anneys withdrew the offering and took a step backwards. ‘It is naught that might be of use to you.’

‘You opened it?’

A smile meant to disarm. ‘For a good cause, I assure you. I thought to discover to whom I should return it.’

‘And who is that?’

‘It contains medicines and bandages. Perhaps Master Saurian the physician dropped it.’

‘Master Saurian fled the city at the first sign of pestilence, as you know. But in truth, were he here he would have no more business in my garden than you do.’

At last Cuthbert detected some discomfort. Anneys lifted her shoulders in a gesture of defeat. ‘Someone in the infirmary?’

‘I have no time for childish guessing games.’ Cuthbert straightened to his full height, but the damnable woman still towered a head above him. No matter. He had the authority. He held out his hand. ‘I will have it. And you will return to your duties.’

‘But—’

‘I will suffer no arguments.’

The woman dropped the bag in his hands and hurried away.

Medicines, she had said. Cuthbert had seen Captain Archer following the master’s clerk across the yard earlier. Might he have misplaced this while he snooped in the garden? It tickled Cuthbert to think of the one-eyed spy searching for his pouch. It was wrong of the master to engage an outsider. The man had no right to be here, no right to question the canons and nuns. Or the lay brothers and sisters. So. His pouch. Cuthbert thought he might put it safely away and then forget about it.

B
rother Wulfstan awoke confused. Had he moved his cot? The window should be above his head, not across the room. And so far across. His cell was not so long. He closed his eyes, felt his head. Often when he burned with fever he felt as if he were shrinking or the room expanding. He remembered that feeling from childhood. So long ago. Why could he remember that, but not whether he had moved his cot? But of two things he was certain. He had no fever, and his window was in the wrong place.

‘Brother Wulfstan?’ a low, gentle voice. Female. ‘Brother Wulfstan, are you awake?’

He opened his eyes. Lucie Wilton leaned over him, her eyes dark with worry.

‘Why has my window moved?’ he asked.

Lucie frowned, obviously finding it puzzling, too.

‘I knew it was not right,’ Wulfstan said.

Lucie pressed his hand. ‘You are in the workroom of the apothecary. Remember? You fell in the street.’

Fell in the street? He remembered no— Ah. The stranger. He flexed his hand, felt the scraped flesh already tightening. ‘Yes. I caught the fall with my hand.’

Lucie nodded. ‘And cut your cheek.’

His right knee burned, too. ‘He wanted my medicines.’

Lucie frowned. ‘He?’

‘The stranger.’

She glanced round to someone behind her.

Jasper stepped forward. ‘Shall I help you sit up?’

‘Bless you, my son. I would like that.’

The lad was strong, which was good, for Wulfstan found it was difficult for him to bend in the middle without much groaning, which would worry Lucie. He must have bruised half his body in his fall. When Jasper let him down he rejoiced in the plump cushions stacked behind him. Sinfully comfortable.

Lucie sat in a chair beside him, holding a bowl of fragrant broth. ‘Shall I help you?’

An undignified way to eat, but far less embarrassing than spilling it over himself. The nourishment cleared away the cobwebs.

‘You were attacked?’

Had he told her? Perhaps. Henry told him he often muttered in his sleep. ‘The stranger did not mean to attack me. I asked too many questions.’

‘God help us if that is now the accepted response to curiosity.’ Lucie poured a cup of watered wine, handed it to Wulfstan.

He was pleased to discover his hand was much steadier. As steady as it ever was at his age. Seeing the determined set to Lucie’s strong jaw, Wulfstan launched into a full account of the incident. Soon his knee was covered with a soothing ointment and bandaged. And just in time. Simon, the Merchets’ groom, waited without with a donkey cart to take Wulfstan home.

‘I do not need that,’ Wulfstan protested. How would he explain it without alarming Brother Henry and Abbot Campian?

‘He will take you to St Mary’s postern gate,’ Lucie said. ‘I shall not treat you like a child. But I urge you to take a companion when you next go out into the city, my friend.’

‘I do not believe he meant to harm me.’

‘But he did harm you.’

‘I shall pray over it.’

At the door Wulfstan had another disturbing surprise. Magda Digby, the heathen midwife, stood in the entry. Wulfstan knew that Lucie and Owen often worked with Mistress Digby and respected her. But a man of the cloth could not condone her pagan ways. Still, they did say she shared his work in ministering to the victims of the pestilence.

‘Thou tookst a fall, Infirmarian?’

‘I did, Mistress Digby.’

Lucie told Magda of Brother Wulfstan’s accident.

‘Wounded. Clerk’s robe. Smelling of horse, thou saidst?’ the old woman nodded thoughtfully.

Her eyes were sharp, her posture quite upright for her age. Wulfstan had to admire her. From all accounts she was older than he by far. ‘I must not keep the donkey cart waiting.’

But Lucie was watching Magda with interest. ‘This man has crossed your path?’

‘Not in the flesh, but Magda has heard of him. What didst thou have in thy bag?’

‘Vinegar, clean cloths, a sweating tisane, a softening poultice, a knife to lance the blisters,’ Wulfstan frowned. What else? ‘Holy oil, holy water, a crucifix …’ He shook his head. ‘I cannot recall all of it.’

‘A heavy burden, Infirmarian,’ Magda said. ‘Hast thou no assistant?’

‘I want none.’

The old woman pulled a pouch from her voluminous robes, took out a small bottle. ‘A tonic for old bones, Infirmarian. Thou must keep up thy strength for the work ahead of thee.’

Wulfstan hesitated. Her remedies were said to be comforting; but did she say pagan charms over them?

‘It contains naught harmful to thy Christian soul,’ Magda said.

Wulfstan pressed his hands together and bowed towards her. ‘Forgive me.’ He reached for the offering. ‘God bless you, Mistress Digby.’ Surely God would forgive him.

As Owen knelt in the infirmary chapel, gathering his thoughts and praying for guidance, footsteps approached from behind, paused, and retreated in haste. A reaction to his presence that Owen found interesting. He slipped into the shadows and followed the footsteps down into the undercroft of the chapel. But instead of entering the room in which the children were at supper, the footsteps went out of the undercroft door. The early evening sun did not reach the walled yard, but there was enough light for Owen to recognise Don Cuthbert carrying a bundle the size of a blanket. Owen watched with interest as the cellarer disappeared into a storage shed built against the far wall. He emerged empty-handed. The behaviour of a thief?

Owen had planned to meet with Cuthbert on the morrow, but the circumstances changed that. He was about to step from the undercroft door when someone came up behind him.

‘Captain Archer?’

Owen spun round.

‘
Benedicte
, Captain.’ The quiet voice belonged to the lay sister Anneys. She must have been one of the women sitting with the children.

He bowed slightly. ‘God go with you.’

‘And with you, Captain.’ Anneys gestured behind her. ‘Did you wish to see the children?’

‘No. I was up in the chapel, I wondered where the stairs would take me.’
And where they had taken the cellarer, who is now lost to me by your courtesy
.

‘They tell me you have your countrymen’s gift of song, Captain. The children are fond of singing.’

Owen found the woman’s forthright manner at odds with her humble station. One might mistake her for the nun in charge of the Barnhous. ‘I have no time for such pleasant pastimes at the moment. Might we speak?’

‘Now? I am sorry, but I am helping with the children tonight. One of the sisters is ill.’

‘Pestilence?’

Anneys crossed herself. ‘The first among the sisters, praise God.’

‘She looked after the sick children?’

‘Yes. I shall do so now.’

‘May God be merciful.’

‘I do it willingly. I sat with another victim and did not fall ill: Master Taverner.’

Should he tell her that Julian had not died of plague? Did it matter? Owen had buried victims and he was still healthy. ‘Might I speak with you tomorrow, then?’

Anneys nodded. ‘The children rest just before vespers. I could meet you in the minster yard. I often walk that way.’

‘I shall be there.’ Owen retraced his way up the steps. He was uneasy. Cuthbert might have seen them talking. An innocent pastime. However, if he was the thief he might now know that Owen had followed him. He already knew Owen’s business at the hospital. It was most unfortunate that Anneys had interrupted him.

He noted that there had been no hesitation in the lay sister’s arrangement to meet him on the morrow, no withdrawal to ask permission. It was plain she had not been a servant for long.

The sun was setting, the narrow city streets were dark and cool as Owen headed home. The lamp beside the door was lit to guide him. As he entered, Kate hurried across the hall towards him.

‘Captain! We worried when you did not come home. I will fetch your food.’

Lucie and Magda sat at the table in the hall with brandywine and a bowl of fruit before them. Jasper sat on a bench by the window, mending a shoe.

Owen thought of his meeting with Magda in the early morning and the nag tethered by her house. ‘Have you been to the Ffulford farm?’

‘Aye.’ Magda told him of her journey while he helped himself to brandywine.

‘You think the child is safe there?’

‘Aye. She is a clever one.’

As Owen ate his supper, Lucie told him of Wulfstan’s attack.

God’s blood, what next? ‘The man who stole the child’s horse attacked Brother Wulfstan for his medicines? Have you informed the bailiff?’ He could tell by the look on Lucie’s face that she had not. ‘I have my hands full at the hospital. I cannot search the streets for this man.’