The Riddle of St Leonard's (25 page)

Dame Beatrice made a face. ‘Outwardly, yes. But God forgive me, her soul is intractable.’ She clapped her hands. ‘Alisoun!’

Owen recognised the scowling brown eyes raised to the nun. The child forced a smile, but it faded when she glanced at Owen.

‘Captain Archer is here to see you. Come along.’ Dame Beatrice’s brusque tone was so unlike her usual manner it effectively discouraged argument. The child put down her sewing, rose and followed quietly. Dame Beatrice led them up the stairs to a small room next to the chapel, then left them alone.

Owen pulled the altar cloth from his pack. ‘Did you give this to Magda Digby?’

Alisoun sat with her feet twisted round the rungs of her chair, her hands gripping the seat on either side of her. She stared at the cloth in puzzlement, then lifted her eyes to glare at Owen. ‘It was mine to give.’

‘Don Cuthbert disagrees with you. He says it disappeared from St Leonard’s church.’

For a moment, the brown eyes revealed confusion. ‘He lies.’

Owen crossed his arms, leaned back against the wall, allowed a silence to make the child uncomfortable.

She began to fidget, clenching and unclenching the edge of the chair. ‘May I return to my lesson?’ she asked at last.

‘No.’

‘What do you want?’

‘I want to know where you found the cloth.’

‘In my mother’s things.’

‘Your mother stole the cloth?’

‘No! How could you say that?’

Owen leaned forward, hands on knees, brought his face close to the child’s. ‘Tell me about the man who stole your horse.’

‘What does he have to do with the cloth?’

‘I am the one asking the questions today.’

The child chewed on a fingernail. ‘Do you think the man who took my horse stole the altar cloth, too?’

‘Did he?’

‘How would I know?’ Her voice rose to an unpleasant pitch.

But though she was upset, Alisoun was becoming more rather than less stubborn, much like Gwenllian when pushed into a corner. Owen rose. ‘Forgive me for wasting your time. I had hoped to discover whether the man who stole your horse was the one who attacked the infirmarian of St Mary’s and stole his bag, which was later found within the hospital walls. But I see you know nothing.’ He took a few steps towards the door.

‘So he
was
here.’

Owen spun round. ‘You saw him?’

The brown eyes froze. ‘You are not as clever as you think.’

‘None of us is.’

Owen waited.

Alisoun fidgeted. Finally, ‘My mother learned to embroider here. She embroidered cloths for the village church.’

‘This one belonged to St Leonard’s.’

Silence.

Owen shook his head. ‘God go with you.’ He stepped out of the room.

Anneys was just coming up the stairs. ‘I shall see to her, Captain,’ she said, breathless from the climb. ‘Come, Alisoun.’

The child stood in the doorway, twisting a lock of hair that had escaped her kerchief and staring down at her shoes. Owen thought she might be more helpful the next time they met.

Geoffrey the bailiff unlocked the door to Walter de Hotter’s house. ‘What do you seek, Captain?’

‘Something that looks as if it should not be here,’ Owen said. ‘Where was Walter lying?’

Geoffrey indicated the spot by the overturned stool. ‘I tried to leave it as I found it, but I cannot say whether his apprentice shifted aught. He said nay, but he was shivering and babbling.’ Walter’s apprentice had discovered his master’s body the morning after the murder, when he had come for his breakfast.

Owen noted the bloodstained rushes. ‘Were the doors ajar?’

‘Not the street door. But that one. To the garden.’

Owen stepped out into the garden, an oblong of weed-choked herbs and flowers surrounding a pear tree. The tree would survive, but many of the plants had already died from lack of water and neglect. The sight saddened Owen.

‘Walter’s son is in Easingwold,’ Geoffrey said, as if to explain the untended patch.

‘I had heard.’ Owen stepped back into the house. ‘Pass me the lantern now.’

The bailiff opened the shutter, but held it beyond Owen’s grasp. ‘I would accompany you, Captain.’

‘You do not trust me?’

‘I would watch and learn from you.’

There were better ways to learn than to watch a man think, but Owen could see Geoffrey was sincere. ‘Come then. We will walk slowly through the house, noting all we see.’

It had been a comfortable household. Once brightly painted cushions, now faded, softened the benches by the table. On the walls, ochre stripes and dots danced against a yellow background. In the chest beside the table, two silver spoons nested among horn ones. Other costly articles included a pearl-handled knife, three pewter platters and a plain silver cup. Another chest in the bedchamber at the top of the ladder held several finely embroidered sheets, a heavy woollen blanket, and two down cushions, all carefully stored with sachets of sweet-smelling herbs. The walls and the bed curtain were painted with white flowers. On a hook by the bed hung a cloak lined with beaver and a good leather belt with a silver buckle.

‘A thief might have found something of interest here,’ Owen commented as they climbed back down to the main room. ‘And much of it easy to hide on his person.’

‘Aye, but his son’s wife missed naught.’

Owen returned to the garden to consider what he had seen. While he thought, he idly pulled at the invasive weeds. Perhaps not such an idle activity. With a bit of clearing, one patch towards the centre was noticeably bare, and the soil crumbly as if recently disturbed. He found a small spade in the shed, dug down into the centre of the patch. Nothing. He moved his attention to the edge, beneath an encroaching patch of chickweed, dug deep. At last the blade hit something hard. He probed, dug up something small, held it up to the fading light. ‘What have we here?’ he muttered as he brushed earth away. It was an ivory pawn dyed with ocre.

Excited by Owen’s find, Geoffrey knelt down beside him, picked up the spade and began to dig at the opposite edge of the patch. ‘I feel sommat!’ He unearthed a white rook.

The two men took turns digging, but found no more.

‘Why would Walter have buried these?’ Geoffrey wondered aloud.

Owen pushed himself up out of the dirt. ‘Not Walter. His murderer. Unless I am much mistaken.’

‘But why?’

Owen glanced round at the buildings bordering the garden. One had two shuttered windows overlooking the garden, another had one. ‘Come within.’ Inside, he settled down on a cushioned bench, set the two pieces on the table before him.

Geoffrey took a seat opposite him, tugged off his hat, scratched his head. ‘You thought we might be overheard?’

‘Risk is foolish in this game.’

Geoffrey picked up the pieces one at a time and looked at them closely. ‘A fine set, this was. I should like to see the whole set.’

‘With luck, you will.’

‘What are you thinking, then, Captain?’

‘That when there are too many coincidences, there are no coincidences.’

Geoffrey frowned. ‘Word games?’

‘Nay. Consider. Walter de Hotter had been two days at St Leonard’s with an injured knee. His house was empty. Suppose someone who had been robbing the hospital saw him there, knew his house would be empty, buried the chess pieces in Walter’s garden. He returned for them when he was ready to sell them or hide them elsewhere, but was surprised by poor Walter.’

‘The thief is someone who is often at the hospital, then?’

‘I think so.’

‘Had these chess pieces just gone missing about the time of his death?’

‘They were not missed until the master returned. But consider this. Walter was often at the hospital. The thief might have buried them during one of Walter’s earlier visits, then returned this time to remove them.’

‘Would Walter not have noticed the disturbed earth?’

‘They were buried deep. Perhaps it was done before the spring planting, when most of the bed would have been bare, perhaps the soil just turned over for planting. He may have seeded over them in spring. Mayhap the entire set was buried here and the thief missed these when removing the others.’

‘Which means he might return.’

Owen would like that. ‘Can you spare a man to watch the house?’

‘Nay. But I might find a lad to do it.’

‘Good.’ Owen rose, walked over to the garden door. ‘One building behind has a window facing the garden. Who lives there?’

Geoffrey joined Owen in the doorway, peered out. ‘Widow Darrow and her crippled son.’

‘Who lives next door? Two windows face this garden.’

‘Master Saurian, the physician.’

‘Indeed?’

A
s evening shadows spread in the garden, Lucie put aside her work, drew Owen outside. ‘I cannot bear the silence. Come. Walk with me and tell me what you learned today about the child and the altar cloth.’ She led him down the path between the lavender and the santolina.

But the beauty of the garden was lost on Owen at that moment. He, too, found the evenings too quiet. He put his arm round Lucie, pulled her close. ‘Shall we send for the children?’

Lucie pressed her head against his shoulder for a moment. ‘How lovely if it were that simple. But three children died in the city today. And they say animals are falling in the fields round us. It is not yet time to bring Gwenllian and Hugh home.’

‘I had not heard about the beasts.’

‘Tell me of your day. Speak of anything but the sickness.’

Owen began with Alisoun and continued with the treasures in Walter’s garden. ‘Saurian the physician is often at the hospital, is he not?’

‘Yes. And he is a gossip. He would be delighted to tell you all he knew were he in the city. But he accompanied the master of Davy Hall to his manor when the pestilence reached the city.’

A convenient escape, and perhaps for more than the obvious reason. ‘How is his business?’

‘His—’ Lucie suddenly stopped, turned to Owen. ‘You think he might be the thief?’

‘Is it possible?’

A little laugh. ‘Only if he is remarkably greedy and stupid. What of the Yorkshire family who sponsored Judith Ffulford? Is there truly no record of their name?’

‘They paid well for their anonymity.’

‘They could not be from York then. Someone would remember them.’

‘I have not asked all at the hospital.’

Lucie bent to pet Melisende. ‘I would not bother. Doubtless the children were moved far from their home because they were an embarrassment.’

That left Owen with something to ponder.

This time Alisoun knew in her dream that she must awaken, that it was not her mother leaning over her. Her heart racing, she woke. The figure stood at the foot of her pallet. Alisoun lay very still, trying to hold her breath. Was it him? The figure wavered because a wind had the night sister’s light flickering. Alisoun could see only that it was a tall figure in a dark hooded gown. It might be almost anyone at the spital – a canon or lay brother, a sister or lay sister. Or the man from the farm might have crept in in disguise, which seemed most likely to Alisoun. Who else had reason to frighten her? He meant to hurt her as she had hurt him. And he was looking for the treasures she had buried.

Alisoun closed her eyes, then opened them just enough to catch any movement through her lashes.

While she waited she prayed.

At last the watcher moved. Alisoun opened her eyes. He had his back to her. She slipped on to the floor and began to crawl after him. It was difficult watching him and picking her way carefully among the pallets. She lost sight of him. He must have made it to the doorway to the chapel stairs. She rose to a crouch and hurried towards the doorway, heard footsteps above her, started up the uneven stone steps, tripped on her hem.

Owen was still lingering over his early morning bread and cheese when Kate opened the door to a messenger from St Leonard’s. Owen heard the lad asking for him. Fearing it was bad news, he hurried over.

‘God go with you, Captain. Dame Beatrice prays you to come to her as soon as you are able. Alisoun Ffulford has been injured.’

‘What has that to do with me?’

‘Dame Beatrice begs you to hurry.’

Owen arrived to chaos. A child had fainted in the midst of play and though they had hurried him off to the infirmary it had frightened the rest of the children who cried and clung to the skirts of the sisters. Dame Beatrice had a cluster of children about her.

‘
Benedicte
, Captain,’ she gasped. ‘I pray you, go to the room by the chapel. The child awaits you there.’ She bent down to the children clutching at her skirts.

Don Cuthbert hurried from the room to greet Owen.

‘What are you doing here?’ Owen asked.

‘The sisters are busy with the children and the sick. But after what happened last night Dame Beatrice rightly thought the child should be guarded.’