The Riddle of St Leonard's (33 page)

‘Swear you will take me to St Mary’s.’

Erkenwald nodded.

‘We journey together. Sometimes a woman is a help to me, sometimes a cleric or a man is a help to her.’

‘You thieve together?’

‘We live as we can.’

‘What does she want with the child?’

‘Anneys says she is her grandchild.’

‘Do you believe that?’

‘Anneys does not lie to me.’

‘What do you know of the three corrodians of St Leonard’s who have been murdered?’

‘I know nothing.’

‘Come now. That chess set has passed time in Walter de Hotter’s garden.’

The man turned away from them.

Owen smelled guilt on him. It was enough for now. He did not wish to spend any more effort questioning the man at this time. Rising, Owen shrugged the coil of rope from his shoulder. ‘We can lower him to the men below.’ He handed Erkenwald an end.

When the lay brothers had John on the stretcher, Erkenwald knelt to him with the rope and trussed him up. He fought, but feebly.

Owen grinned. ‘A nod is not your word?’

Erkenwald glanced up as he secured the knot. ‘I was nodding at my thought – once a thief, ever one, eh?’

The lay brothers looked confused.

‘We shall accompany you to the top of Lop Lane,’ Owen said. ‘You will take him to the hospital, explain to Don Cuthbert or whoever needs to know that he is to be guarded. The hospital gaol is the place for him, I have no doubt.’

‘And we?’ Erkenwald asked.

‘We take shovels, arms, and ride to the farm.’

On Petergate they met the bailiff Geoffrey. ‘I thought you should hear, Captain. A woman and a girl stole the Riverwoman’s boat.’

‘How long ago?’

Geoffrey looked up at the sun. ‘Long enough to be well away.’ He nodded at the man on the stretcher. ‘Restraining the sick?’

‘He may be one of our murderers. And a thief.’

‘You have done a good day’s work.’

‘It is not over, Geoffrey. Will you escort them to the hospital?’

‘That I shall do, Captain. You need not worry that he will be brought there.’

‘The men know what to do with him.’

‘You are off to catch his partners?’

‘Aye. And to return the Riverwoman’s boat, God willing.’

B
ess Merchet was sitting with Lucie in the kitchen when Owen rushed through in search of the shovels he had packed.

‘You must listen to what Bess has learned,’ Lucie said.

‘I must hasten to catch Anneys and the child before they slip through my hands again. Did Jasper return?’

‘He did. He is in the shop.’

‘Good.’

Bess jumped up to follow Owen. She would not be brushed aside when she had worked so hard. But she was mindful to be brief.

Owen sat a moment beside the pack of shovels. ‘You give me much to think about.’

Bess did not think he was sufficiently impressed. ‘Do you not see? Honoria and Uncle Julian were at odds. Sir Richard’s clerk says my uncle made a new will. Perhaps she thought to murder him before he had the chance.’

‘When did Douglas tell you of the will?’

‘When he told me of my share.’

‘Do you know that Honoria received less in the new will?’

A pox on his reasoning. ‘No.’

Owen nodded. ‘I am more intrigued by Julian’s remorse over Adam Carter’s death. It seems more than the thieving bastard was due.’ And with that, Owen rose, threw the pack of shovels over his shoulder, and rushed out.

‘That is the last time I assist your husband,’ Bess declared.

Alisoun paused in her hunt for shovels to watch Anneys, who sat in the doorway of the house alternately wiping her brow and drinking from a jug of well water. What had she done that made her so hot? The day was mild for summer, and Alisoun had done most of the rowing. They would have made more progress by now if the woman had helped more.

It was mid-afternoon. There might yet be enough light to dig up the treasures, but by then it would be too late to return to York. When Alisoun mentioned this to Anneys, the woman assured her that they had left ample food and drink for Finn.

‘But what of us?’

‘We can sleep in the house, child. It was good enough for you once.’

‘I shall sleep in the barn.’

‘Why not the house?’

‘It is full of ghosts.’

Anneys made the sign of the cross and told Alisoun to go find the shovels.

Lame John and his son Rich lay in the tall meadow grass at the far end of the field watching Alisoun and Anneys work. They had retreated after creeping close and seeing the wealth the two were collecting.

‘What devilment is this?’ Lame John muttered. ‘Where did my brother’s child get such things?’

‘They brought no horses,’ Rich said. He wriggled backwards until he could stand behind a tree. His father joined him more slowly.

‘A boat, then?’

‘Aye, that’s what I’m thinking. And if we see to it, they might stay long enough to explain what they’re about.’

Lacking customers and unable to keep his mind on his lessons, Jasper shut the shop for a while and went in search of Lucie. He found her up in the solar, kneeling over a small chest, lifting items from it: toys, a child’s gown … He knew that it had been her mother’s chest; in it she kept her memories. Jasper’s mother had had such a chest.

‘I have nothing of his in here. Nothing,’ Lucie whispered.

Jasper knelt beside her. ‘Brother Wulfstan means as much to you as he does to me.’

Lucie gathered the items she had spread on the floor, placed them back in the chest. ‘I have never known a gentler soul than Wulfstan. I cannot say that I have always been good to him.’ She blotted her eyes on her sleeve.

‘I should have asked you to come with me.’

Lucie hugged herself. ‘I feel frightened. Fearful of what will take the place of such goodness.’

Jasper did not know how to comfort her. ‘I must return to the shop,’ he said.

‘I will come with you.’

Lame John backed away, shook his head. ‘I cannot.’

His son lifted his hand over the boat, was about to bring the jagged rock down on the curved prow when his father caught his hand. Rich dropped the rock as he yanked out of his father’s grasp. Lame John lunged for the rock.

‘What is this?’ Rich hissed. ‘You have changed your mind?’

‘’Tis the Riverwoman’s boat.’

‘And what if it is? She was not with them. You think she loaned it to them? Those two?’ Rich spat in the grass.

‘I would not be cursed by her.’

‘How will she know? ’Tis that changeling, Alisoun, stole it. She damaged it. Who is to say otherwise?’

‘The Riverwoman might know otherwise.’

‘A midwife? Herb-gatherer?’

‘She is more than that.’

‘She is a good woman. She would think us in the right. Alisoun is our kin. We must protect her from that woman.’

Lame John laughed. ‘You want the gold and silver.’

‘Did you see it? When are we to see the likes of that again, eh?’

Lame John handed his son the rock.

When the prow had been sufficiently splintered, Rich tossed the rock aside, brushed off his hands.

‘You’ve taken the skin off your palms. Down to the river with you, wash them off.’

‘What then? Do we await them here?’

‘Nay. We must see what they are about.’

Lucie and Jasper found no customers in Davygate, but they opened the shop door in the hope of distraction. Jasper sat on the bench by the window; Crowder climbed up on his lap, and as the lad absent-mindedly stroked the cat, Lucie told him of her first visit to Brother Wulfstan’s garden.

The trussed man on the stretcher attracted much interest at the hospital – until word spread that he stank of pestilence.

‘The gaol? And keep him under guard? But what has he done?’ Don Cuthbert found them puzzling suggestions.

‘Captain Archer did not say,’ replied one of the stretcher-bearers.

Cuthbert tucked his hands up his sleeves, considered the alternatives. He had so far managed to keep the deaths from pestilence quite low by separating the sufferers from the other infirm. The hospital was not crowded, but to place him in a room that might be secured would require inconvenient shuffling.

‘The gaol it is, then. Put him far from Mistress Staines.’ In truth, she should be released to the house of the lay sisters, but he was not about to do so without the master’s order. He must tread lightly for a time.

A
lisoun stared into one of the crimson bells of the tall foxglove. Might the plant have grown in this spot after she’d buried the treasures? Had it been long enough since she’d disturbed this earth for a weed to seed itself and grow? Perhaps she had sped its growth by loosening the earth round it. That had been her principal task each spring, to loosen the soil round her mother’s older herbs.

She did not wish to ask Anneys whether it was possible that the treasure lay below the plant. Alisoun was not yet ready to admit to her that she could not find the last of the treasure. Anneys did not seem patient with failure. They had dug up the trench that Alisoun remembered digging: from the second post in the fence beyond the tree from which she’d fallen when she was small to the old ditch. This plant was growing at the edge of the ditch. Alisoun might have gone that far, though she did not think so. It was a measuring point on the property. She had feared her uncle would notice if it was disturbed. But she had been weary on the evening she had buried the goods. Perhaps she had gone farther than she had intended.

‘We have not the time to stare at flowers.’ Anneys’s voice was hoarse with exhaustion, though she had done precious little of the digging. In fact she had stopped after losing her balance and slipping into one of the holes shortly after they had begun. ‘A moment ago you feared we would be interrupted,’ Anneys reminded her.

It was true. Alisoun had sensed someone watching them, but the feeling had gone away. She had stood very still, trying not to breathe. Only the insects and the birds disturbed the afternoon, and, farther away, the river. Whatever Alisoun had heard, she did not hear it again. Still, she had bent back to her digging with more energy, and in a short while she had retrieved all but the cross.

Was it under the foxglove? Alisoun pushed herself up from her crouching position, retraced her steps to the spot at which they had begun their dig, crouched over the hole, dug a little beyond, until she reached hard, undisturbed soil. It was indeed the end of the trench.

‘Where is the rood?’ Anneys asked from above.

Alisoun took a deep breath. ‘Under the foxglove … I think.’

‘You think? You do not know?’

Alisoun flinched at the tone, and the foot that tapped impatiently, perhaps even angrily, beside her. ‘It is the only part of the trench we have not tried.’

‘Meaning?’

Alisoun rose, faced her interrogator. The tall woman leaned on her shovel, glaring at Alisoun with dark eyes. Soil smudged her face and made her even more malevolent. ‘Meaning I hope it is there, because if it is not, someone has been here before us.’

Anneys straightened. ‘Foolish child. That was the most valuable piece.’

‘I did not take it.’

‘But you let someone else take it.’

Alisoun ran down to the foxglove, sank down beside it, began to dig with her hands, plunging them into the soil, which was rough with pebbles that stung her with scratches.

Anneys knelt beside Alisoun, caught her wrists and pulled her hands from the soil, shook her head at the torn fingernails. ‘You have hurt yourself. Let me dig.’

But Alisoun was not listening. Anneys’s hands were hot and clammy. Alisoun withdrew her left hand, touched the woman’s forehead, then her right cheek. ‘You are sick.’ Her eyes were bloodshot and heavy-lidded. ‘Grandame, you are sick!’

Anneys pressed Alisoun’s hand. ‘What does it matter? Tomorrow we shall float downriver as rich as the Master of St Leonard’s. Come. Use the shovel. Try this last place.’

And at last, much to Alisoun’s relief, she found the pearl and silver cross. But by then Anneys’s breath was coming in gasps.

‘By Christ’s thorns, these are riches indeed,’ Lame John muttered to his son. ‘I told you we would do well to watch the farm.’ They lay in the tall grass beyond the old ditch, hidden by more foxgloves growing wild in the field, gazing upon the items heaped on the cloth beside the woman and Alisoun.

‘Do not rejoice yet,’ Rich said. ‘Listen.’

Lame John tensed and listened, heard horses approaching. On hands and knees he crept backwards into the wood, an awkward, jerking motion with his uneven legs. Rich followed.