Disturbed by Sir Robert’s growing agitation, Lucie rose. ‘Forgive me, but it grows late, Your Grace, gentlemen. I must thank you for your hospitality.’
Thoresby rose and bowed to Lucie. ‘I hope you will see your way to helping us, Mistress Wilton. And that you do not pause too long over your decision.’
‘I am not in the habit of pondering choices overlong, Your Grace. I am already resolved to assist you.’
Thoresby smiled. ‘God bless you, Mistress Wilton. I am in your debt.’
‘I shall go to St Mary’s tomorrow.’
The archbishop himself escorted Lucie and Sir Robert to the door. While they waited for Lizzie to fetch Lucie’s mantle, Thoresby took Lucie aside. ‘I wish to apologise for involving you in this, and for sending your husband away when you carry your first child.’
Lucie studied his face, saw that he seemed sincere. ‘I thank you. It is not easy being away from Owen at this time. But I would not dream of using my being with child to keep Owen from his duties. Or to shirk my own.’
‘I would not expect you to,’ Thoresby said, and was about to say more when Lizzie returned with the mantle. Lucie could tell that he put aside what he’d been about to say and said instead, ‘You and your unborn child are in my prayers.’
‘I thank you.’
‘God go with you.’
‘And with you, Your Grace.’
Sir Robert bowed stiffly.
Gilbert and Daimon appeared from nowhere to escort them home. Lucie was grateful for Gilbert’s presence — it delayed dealing with Sir Robert.
As soon as they were back at the house, with the door closed against Gilbert’s ears and Daimon upstairs, Sir Robert spun round. ‘That arrogant cleric! To question the King and Prince Edward!’ The voice that had been so soft all evening now boomed.
Lucie hoped he would not wake Tildy. ‘Is it not a wise check on the King that his counsellors should have their own minds, Sir Robert?’
Sir Robert huffed with disgust. ‘Spoken like a woman. A man’s duty is to obey his king!’ His eyes flashed with anger.
Lucie closed her eyes, too familiar with that look from her childhood. ‘Please lower your voice.’
‘And to involve you, in your condition. .’ Sir Robert tugged at his belt and called for Daimon.
‘Lower your voice, Sir Robert,’ Lucie said between clenched teeth.
He threw the belt on a bench. ‘Why do you always call me “Sir Robert”? Why do you never call me father?’
Lucie sank down on a bench, yearning for her bed. What had he ever done to deserve her affection? Respect, yes, she gave him respect, as was his due. But affection. . ‘I am not in the habit of saying “father”, Sir Robert. You were seldom about in my childhood. And as soon as maman died you thrust me away, sending me off to the sisters at St Clement’s.’
Sir Robert opened his mouth, closed it, bowed his head, his hands clenched tightly at his sides. In a moment, he made a fuss of picking up his belt, then yelled again for Daimon.
The squire came hurrying down the stairs. ‘Forgive me. I was turning down your bed, Sir.’
As Lucie followed them up, a great weariness came over her. It would be a long visit.
As Thoresby sat by the fire with his nephew, sipping brandywine, he studied the younger man. He realised he had never thought of Richard as a lusty man. He had been destined for the Church from birth. Thoresby’s sister had never spoken of her son’s having other ambitions. But after Richard’s behaviour that evening, Thoresby wondered. ‘I could not help noting how attractive you found Mistress Wilton. Your lust was quite evident.’
Ravenser grinned into the distance, where he evidently held an image of Lucie Wilton. ‘An enticing creature. But I fear she found me a bore.’
‘You are content in the Church, Richard?’
Now Ravenser turned to his uncle. ‘Quite content. Why? Is it too sinful to appreciate beauty?’
Thoresby shook his head. ‘Merely a word of advice. A man of your rising fortunes must beware ill-judged passions. They can return to haunt you in unexpected and dangerous ways.’ He spoke knowingly, from his recent experience.
Ravenser frowned at his uncle. ‘I am but a man. I have appetites.’
Thoresby downed his brandywine. ‘Satisfy them discreetly, Richard. And wisely.’
‘I meant nothing by it. I did not grab her, did I?’
‘I felt the heat in you. Had you been alone with her. .’
Ravenser looked shocked. ‘I am not a beast, uncle.’
Thoresby relaxed. ‘The look on your face comforts me profoundly, nephew. I shall say no more.’
Ten
When Lucie slipped down to the kitchen the next morning, hoping to break her fast with some bread and ale and be off to the abbey before anyone stirred, Sir Robert was already there, ale in hand, watching Tildy stoke the fire. Lucie cursed silently. On the walk home the previous night Sir Robert had insisted that he and Daimon would escort Lucie to meet Dame Joanna in the morning. Lucie had countered with the suggestion that Sir Robert do some gardening for her. He had assured her that there was time for both tasks, that he was there to do her bidding. But his first duty was to protect her.
And now Sir Robert was up betimes and eager to go. Tildy’s smile was sympathetic as she set some breakfast before her mistress.
Lucie tried once again. ‘Sir Robert, I would prefer to do this alone.’
‘I would not think of it.’
‘The archbishop’s man Gilbert will accompany me.’
‘It is best that Daimon and I are also with you. I shall not hover while you speak to the nun. I can be discreet.’
Lucie sighed. ‘You are stubborn, Sir Robert.’
When they left the narrow city streets, passing out through Bootham Bar, the sun shone down on the little party and lifted Lucie’s mood.
Sir Robert, however, found the open sky threatening. ‘The abbey should have a gate within the city walls. It is unsafe for you to leave the protection of the walls.’
‘The postern gate is just here, Sir Robert.’ They were already upon it.
But Sir Robert continued to fret as they passed through the gate. ‘They do not post sentries along the abbey wall, and the outlaws know it.’
Lucie made soothing noises and walked on, grateful for once to see Dame Isobel, who met them at the gatehouse, aflutter with gratitude. ‘God bless you for this, Mistress Wilton. I could not contain my joy when His Grace sent word you would come today. Every time I question Joanna she becomes more distant.’
Lucie followed Dame Isobel. ‘Does she expect us?’
‘Joanna looks forward to your visit.’ Isobel paused and turned to Lucie with a worried look. ‘But be forewarned, her moods are unpredictable.’ With a sigh, she resumed her heavy-footed march across the yard.
At the guest house, Sir Robert stopped and bowed to Dame Isobel. ‘I shall wait in the church. Come, Daimon.’ He pressed Lucie’s hand, then walked away with stiff dignity.
Lucie and the prioress mounted the guest house steps. Isobel turned at the top, her bulk making her breathless from the climb. She pressed her chest, motioning that she was catching her breath. ‘I shall accompany you, but if she prefers to speak with you alone, I am willing to accommodate her — are you?’
Lucie nodded.
The hospitaller opened the heavy oak door and bowed them in. His sandalled feet whispered across the wooden floor as he led them to Joanna’s room overlooking the garden.
The curtains of the great bed were open, the bedclothes straightened. Wrapped in the shabby blue mantle, Dame Joanna stood at an unglazed window, her back to her visitors, seemingly unaware of their presence.
‘Benedicte, Joanna,’ Isobel said loudly.
Joanna started, then turned. ‘Benedicte, Reverend Mother.’ Her eyes flitted over to Lucie, her face warming. ‘Mistress Wilton, you were kind to come.’ The mantle dropped back from her head, revealing a cloud of unruly red hair that curled to Joanna’s shoulders.