Simon looked up, saw Owen standing at the end of the path. ‘Captain Archer. Good day to you.’
Owen nodded. ‘Simon. Your Grace.’ He strolled on down the path as Simon loaded his garden cart, prepared to make his escape. Lucky man.
‘Godspeed, Your Grace,’ Simon said, starting forward. He grinned at Owen as he reached him. ‘You’ll be a father before Martinmas, eh? Rest easy. Mistress Wilton is in good hands with the Riverwoman.’ He trundled on by.
Thoresby drew in his legs and dusted off the front of his gown. ‘Is the training progressing well?’ He gestured for Owen to sit on his left.
‘Well enough,’ Owen said, settling down. Perverse of Thoresby to choose to meet in the garden on an overcast day.
‘Can Lief and Gaspare continue on their own?’
Owen turned his good eye fully on the archbishop’s face. He was up to something. ‘I’ve a few more things to show them.’
‘Might that be done today?’ Thoresby turned to face Owen and shook his head with a mocking smile. ‘Why do you frown upon me with such ferocity?’
Owen had not been prepared for such a blunt question. ‘’Tis the light, Your Grace. Though overcast, there is yet a glare out here.’
Thoresby chuckled. ‘Evasion does not become you. I believe it is not the tasks I set you to: you enjoy the challenge. So it must be me. You disapprove of me.’
‘You send me after the truth for the wrong reasons.’
The archbishop’s eyebrows rose. ‘And what reasons are those?’
Lucie would tell Owen to mind his peace, the archbishop had been generous to them. But Lucie was not here. ‘Ambition and pride. You care nothing for the victims, you merely wish to restore order.’
Thoresby crossed his arms, leaned back again, stretched out his legs. ‘It is my duty to keep the peace in my liberty.’
‘No doubt that is true.’ The conversation struck Owen as pointless. He changed the subject. ‘Why do you ask whether I can finish training Lief and Gaspare today?’
Thoresby chuckled. ‘Back to the matter at hand. Fair enough. I want you to go to Leeds, speak with the Calverleys, find out all you can about Joanna.’
‘What is your interest in the matter?’
‘I must decide whether to order Dame Isobel to accept Joanna Calverley back in St Clement’s or whether to send the woman elsewhere. Before I impose the nun on anyone I must know whether she is in any way responsible for the deaths of Longford’s cook and his maid. Or Longford’s disappearance.’
Owen nodded. He saw the sense in it. ‘Someone else might make the journey faster, Your Grace. I am off to Pontefract in a few days for the Duke of Lancaster.’
‘Leave tomorrow, stop in Leeds on the way.’
Owen bit back a curse.
‘And take Sir Nicholas de Louth with you.’
‘Who?’
‘He is a canon of Beverley and clerk to Prince Edward. He had been watching Longford’s house in Beverley for a long while.’
‘A churchman? What use will he be to me? If I must be off to Leeds, at least let me choose my travelling companions.’
‘He has requested this, Archer. And it has occurred to me that it would be good to have him with you at Pontefract. Lancaster will be interested in what Sir Nicholas has to say.’
‘Why does he wish to come?’
‘As I said, he has been watching Longford’s house. It seems a natural extension of the work he has been doing.’
‘Do you order me to take him?’
Thoresby sighed. ‘If I must.’
‘Will he let me manage the Calverleys?’
‘I trust he will.’
Owen saw no use in further argument. Thoresby had arranged it all before approaching him. As usual. ‘You saw Alfred and Colin last night?’
‘I did.’ Thoresby described their conditions and recounted what Alfred had told him. ‘I have sent Sir Nicholas’s men out to examine the site of the attack to find out what they can. Nicholas will give you a full account.’
Owen rose. ‘Before I go, I should meet Joanna Calverley.’
Thoresby gave a little bow. ‘Whatever you see fit.’
Dame Joanna’s sole companion that morning was a maid, spinning to keep herself occupied. The young woman clutched her spindle to her lap as she rose to greet Owen, but before he could introduce himself a nun hurried in, waving her hands and spilling smiles as she approached.
‘Sit down, child,’ she trilled to the maid, who did so gladly. The nun was of an age with the Reverend Mother, but much comelier, with laughter lines radiating out from her eyes and mouth. ‘God go with you, Captain Archer. I am Dame Katherine. I have been assisting the infirmaress with Joanna.’ She fanned her face and beamed at him. ‘Such a warm day. You are here to speak with Dame Joanna?’
Owen wondered at the wisdom of assigning this energetic woman to the infirmary. ‘I am off to see her family tomorrow. I thought she might have a message for them.’
Katherine gave a little hop and clapped her hands. ‘How thoughtful! Let us see whether Joanna is awake. It is not always apparent.’ They moved towards the bed.
Dame Joanna lay quietly, her hands folded over the covers. A white cap controlled the red hair, which Owen could see was curly and thick. Her skin was stark white, which made her freckles seem like a spray of tiny blemishes. Owen still stood beside the bed when Joanna opened her eyes. The vivid green surprised him.
‘Good morning, Joanna,’ Dame Katherine chirped. ‘You have a visitor. A Captain Archer.’
Joanna boldly ran her eyes up and down, getting her fill of Owen. He felt oddly naked. A smile played round Joanna’s full lips. ‘A soldier? Visiting me? To what do I owe this delightful courtesy?’
Owen thought neither of these women suited to the convent, one boisterous, the other flirtatious. He sank down on the stool Katherine had set behind him. ‘Tomorrow I travel to Leeds on business for the archbishop,’ he explained to Joanna. ‘His Grace thought you might wish me to carry a message to your kin.’ The moment the words were out, he remembered that her family had cast her out. Tripping on his own tongue again.
Joanna’s smile froze. ‘My kin would hardly thank you for word of me, Captain. You shall find that my mother denies giving me birth.’
Surely not so far. ‘How could a mother be so cruel?’
Joanna made a dismissive sound, then smiled up at him. ‘How did you lose your eye?’ She reached stubby fingers up to clutch the air at the height of his scar. The movement disturbed her covers and revealed the blue mantle wrapped round her. ‘I should love you to lie with me.’
‘Joanna!’ Dame Katherine cried. ‘You forget your vows. And his. This is Mistress Wilton’s husband.’
Joanna pouted. ‘What a pity.’ She dropped her hand, drew the mantle up round her chin. ‘Why should such a handsome couple trouble themselves with a Magdalene?’
‘A what?’
Joanna closed her eyes. ‘Tell the family of my burial in Beverley. That should cheer them.’
Owen leaned closer. ‘What did you mean about a Magdalene?’
Joanna opened her eyes slowly, whispered something that Owen could not hear. He leaned closer. Her hand shot from under the covers, grabbed his vest, pulled him towards her. As Owen backed away, Joanna licked her lips.
‘I am a Magdalene, my sweet Captain,’ she murmured, and closed her eyes.
Dame Katherine hustled Owen from the room. ‘Pray God forgive her. My apologies, Captain Archer. I have never seen her behave so.’
‘No matter. I was forewarned that she was a strange young woman.’
Dame Katherine looked truly embarrassed, her hands flitting about as if looking for a discreet perch. ‘What must you think! And Mistress Wilton was so kind to her, I hear. You must not tell her what a wicked thing Joanna did.’
‘Has she said anything to you about what happened to her?’
‘She has spoken of the sea. And soldiers. What was it she said?’ Katherine dropped her chin and hugged herself, thinking, nodded a few times and looked up. ‘One night she spoke of young soldiers being drawn to the sea. Gathered by the sea.’ She shook her head. ‘Just phrases, you know. Nothing you can be sure of.’