Lucie looked from Tildy to Owen and burst out laughing. ‘It was nothing so devilish, believe me. Snatching apples from the cellar, dancing in the orchard, climbing trees. .’
‘Her post was looking after the little ones?’
Lucie rolled her eyes. ‘Isobel is not that much older than I am. She simply took it on herself to torment me.’ The playful look darkened. ‘I have always believed it was Isobel who spread the word that my mother was a French whore.’
Tildy gasped. ‘Oh Mistress Lucie, that was never true!’
‘Of course it was not true.’
Owen did not like the colour rising in Lucie’s cheeks. ‘What was wrong with climbing trees?’
Lucie shrugged. ‘There were rules about everything. It seemed everything but prayer and work was a sin.’ Lucie suddenly laughed. ‘But Isobel now wears a silk gorget and carries delicately embroidered linen. I wish I knew to whom I might report her!’
‘I hope you sent her away with bad advice.’
‘There was little I could tell her. But I shall tell you all you wish to know when you tell me why you are home betimes. Has Thoresby called you back to help him discover Joanna’s story?’
Owen had known she would guess. He had purposefully not said, watching how long it would take. ‘You have found me out, wife. But while I was on the road, the circumstances became even more disturbing. I do not want you involved with this any more.’ He told her about Alfred and Colin.
When Tildy had gone off to bed, Lucie told Owen about Joanna’s condition and what she had learned from Isobel.
‘I want to speak with her tomorrow,’ he said as they climbed up to bed.
‘Shall I come?’
Owen did not like the eagerness with which Lucie asked the question. ‘No. I have told you. People have been murdered round that woman. I want you to stay away from her.’ He stopped as they entered their bedchamber and turned to Lucie, tipping her chin up so she looked him in the eye. ‘Promise me you will stay away from Joanna Calverley?’
Lucie smiled, reached up on her tiptoes and kissed him. ‘Let us speak no more of nuns this night, Owen. I want my husband’s full attention.’
Much later, when Owen woke in the night with a full bladder, he shook his head at how neatly Lucie had side-stepped the promise. But, in faith, he loved her for that very wilfulness.
Seven
Thoresby sent for Michaelo on rising. Usually he gave his secretary his orders for the day while breakfasting, but with guests there was no privacy. While the servants dressed him, Thoresby listed Michaelo’s tasks, including summoning Owen Archer to the palace for a meeting. ‘Mid-morning should suffice.’ He had an elegantly simple solution to the problem of getting Archer out of the way while he engaged Lucie Wilton in the task of communicating with Joanna Calverley.
By the time Thoresby descended to break his fast, Ravenser and Louth were already before the fire in the great hall, dipping bread in honey and discussing their plans for the day.
‘I shall spend the morning at St Leonard’s doing battle,’ Ravenser was saying. He was master of St Leonard’s Hospital. ‘The monks oppose me in the sale of two corodies, but they admit that there will be shortfalls by Michaelmas.’
Louth sniffed. ‘Hospitals. I cannot abide such places. You were a saint to accept the post.’
Ravenser laughed. ‘Hardly a saint, Nicholas. I rarely go in the infirmary. My business is with the brothers.’
‘Corodies are an excellent source of income. What do they propose instead?’
‘Economies, to get through the crisis.’ Ravenser nodded at Louth’s laugh. ‘You see the folly of such thinking, why can’t they? They refuse to admit that the Petercorn and the income from the manor farms are steadily falling. They shall not improve until we are free of pestilence and blessed with good harvests for a while. Economies now will only prolong the problem.’
Thoresby, tired of his nephew’s frequent tirades about the backward economics of the Augustinians of St Leonard’s, made a noisy entrance as he joined them at table. ‘Are your retainers set to any tasks today, Nicholas?’
Louth straightened. ‘Doubling up the guard at the abbey gates as they have been doing, Your Grace.’
‘I would like two of them to talk with Alfred, learn all they can about where the assault occurred, and then go look round, talk to the folk who live there, find out if anyone saw or heard anything, knows anything.’
Louth rose. ‘I shall see to it at once, Your Grace.’
Ravenser dabbed at his sticky hands. ‘What about Owen Archer? Should he perhaps be with them?’
Thoresby shook his head. ‘I have other plans for him. He will be off to Leeds on the morrow. I want him to talk with the Calverleys. Find out all he can about Joanna. Why the family disowned her.’
Louth had almost reached the door. Now he turned round. ‘Your Grace, might I accompany him to Leeds?’
Thoresby sat back in his chair, steepling his hands and peering at Nicholas de Louth over them. ‘Why?’
Louth returned to the table. He stood by Thoresby, his fingertips pressing into the table. ‘I feel responsible for much of this situation. I wish to do what I can.’
‘Archer is quite competent.’
‘Indeed.’ Louth cleared his throat and kept his eyes on Thoresby’s hands. ‘I thought I might learn something by observing him, Your Grace.’
Thoresby considered Louth’s pampered paunch and fussy clothes. He could not imagine him riding with Archer. ‘I doubt he will be keen for your company.’
Louth took a step closer. ‘I pray you suggest it. He can but refuse.’
Thoresby shrugged. ‘I shall suggest it. Get your men to work at once — in case Archer surprises me and agrees.’
Louth smiled, bobbed his head and hurried from the room.
The day was overcast, cooler than it had been of late, the high clouds holding no rain. John Thoresby sat on the low wall separating the kitchen garden from the formal garden and looked back towards the house. The paths of the kitchen garden were edged in santolina and hardy lavender. Camomile blossoms gave off an apple scent even though they were closed up against the morning chill. Bees already buzzed among the borage blossoms. Thoresby looked up at the archbishop’s palace, two storeys of well-matched stone with small glazed windows, a third of whitewashed wattle and daub with wax parchment windows for the servants. It had been a beautiful house, worthy of entertaining even the King. Not so lovely now. Thoresby approved only essential repairs now that he stayed here infrequently. Because the dean and chapter of York Minster had become increasingly jealous of their autonomy, Thoresby usually chose Bishopthorpe as his residence when seeing to business in York. It was several miles south of the city, but close enough, and it was even lovelier than this, with gardens rolling down to the river.
He was a fortunate man to have palaces to choose from — he had several more, scattered about the countryside and one even in Beverley. It was a great privilege to be Archbishop of York. He sat in the King’s Parliament, ruled over a goodly portion of this great city of York, and, through his archdeacons, over all Yorkshire.
Yet it gnawed at him that William of Wykeham was poised to take the chancellor’s chain from round his neck. Why? With his increasingly uncertain relationship with King Edward, it should please him to see an escape.
But it did not. He liked the power he wielded as Lord Chancellor. And he still hoped to guide the King in ruling his kingdom fairly and firmly. He had tasted too much power to be satisfied with just an archbishopric now.
Owen was puzzled to be shown out into the palace garden. Thoresby sat on a bench near the cloister wall, arms crossed, legs stretched out before him, chatting with the gardener. The scene struck Owen as false, set up for a purpose. He wondered what Simon thought of this sudden friendliness.