‘Not all of them left.’
‘Why did you leave Scarborough, Joanna?’
Joanna clutched her medal and began to rock.
‘How did you get back to Beverley?’
‘Walked.’
‘That is a long way to walk, Joanna. Had you no horse? No escort?’
Joanna said nothing, her eyes unfocused.
Scarborough. Stefan finding Hugh. The relic sale being a myth. All subjects that made Dame Joanna clutch the medal, turn inward. Lucie sat up, pressed her fists into her lower back. She was exhausted. ‘Shall we stop for today, Joanna?’
Joanna opened her eyes, let go of the medal. ‘God bless you, Mistress Wilton.’
Lucie rose. ‘Send word when you wish to speak with me again.’ She left with so many questions crowding her mind she almost walked right into Dame Isobel.
‘Benedicte, Mistress Wilton,’ the prioress said. She was waiting right outside the room. ‘You have been with her a long time.’
‘Benedicte, Reverend Mother.’
‘Did she make any sense?’
‘I believe she did.’ Lucie rubbed her back. ‘I must think about it.’
Dame Isobel nodded. ‘I shall be patient.’
In the nave of the abbey church, Lucie knelt beside Sir Robert and prayed to the Virgin. She prayed that at the end of all this Joanna might discover a way to leave St Clement’s and find some happiness. If it was not too late. Lucie was less sure than she had been before this morning’s interview that Joanna was untouched by whatever had befallen her. The inconsistencies, the sudden changes in mood and subject, all suggested a woman under great strain. Because she hid something? Because she harboured guilt? She must die, she must be punished, she must not be healed. Guilt — that is what Lucie read in her. What had Dame Joanna done? As she walked back into the city with Sir Robert, Lucie told him about the manor outside Scarborough, with the soldiers and the foreigners. It seemed a safe topic that would interest him enough to keep him from fretting about her involvement. It did distract him and he left her in the shop and went out to work in the garden without further argument.
But it brought its own problems. Lucie had just finished with her first customer and was settling down to record her interview with Dame Joanna when Sir Robert came into the shop, frowning.
‘What is it? You cannot find the right tools?’
‘The garden is fine. ’Tis the soldiers. Archers. Archers sailing away. You heard the chancellor. They are significant, Lucie. You must pursue that. You must learn where this manor is. And foreigners, she said.’
‘I intend to speak with her again, Sir Robert. I am well aware that there is much detail to fill in. I did not wish to press her and make her uneasy.’
‘A gathering of archers and foreigners. This might be treason, daughter. Pursue it.’
‘The garden, Sir Robert.’
He nodded and departed, still frowning.
Lucie groaned. The shop bell jingled. It was mid-afternoon before she was able to return to her notes.
As Lucie closed up the shop for the day, Bess Merchet poked her head inside to invite her over for a tankard of ale in the kitchen of her tavern round the corner. Lucie accepted with pleasure. She was not ready to face Sir Robert across the table, and she welcomed Bess’s opinion on the previous evening.
As the good innkeeper she was, Bess knew all the news of York, including Lucie’s supper with the archbishop, and was eager for details. A good friend of seven years, she could be trusted not to divulge anything that Lucie asked her to keep to herself, so Lucie was free to talk.
At the close of Lucie’s summary, Bess sat back in her chair and squinted at Lucie over the rim of her tankard. ‘A passing strange story, indeed. But Owen will not be pleased by your involvement.’
‘No.’
‘He does not like his own work for the archbishop.’
‘You do not think I should do this for His Grace.’
Bess shrugged. ‘I see no harm in it. Nay, I merely point out that you and Owen will be shouting at each other over this one.’
Lucie stared down into her cup, imagining the argument, ‘I do not know how I would live if I avoided everything that might start an argument with Owen. He has a quick temper.’
Bess chuckled. ‘And you do not?’
Lucie shrugged.
Bess laughed louder.
Lucie could not help but smile. In truth, she had a temper at least as hot as Owen’s. She tapped tankards with Bess and downed the rest of her ale. ‘Now that you know the tale, you might listen for any gossip in the tavern that might pertain?’
Bess nodded. ‘I shall do more than listen, I promise you.’
Lucie hugged Bess. ‘You are a good friend.’
‘Come. I shall escort you out.’ Bess offered Lucie her muscular arm. Laughing, Lucie put her hand on it. They strolled out into the stable yard.
Lucie sighed at the sight of her father’s horses. ‘’Tis good of you to stable Sir Robert’s horses.’
Bess eyed her with interest. ‘Never call him “father”, do you?’
Lucie shook her head.
‘He tries, you know. He’s an old man to make this journey and offer help.’
‘Yes, he’s an old man, and a soldier who knows nothing of the shop or gardening. What is he good for?’
‘Those are spiteful words, not thoughtful. They’re unworthy of you, Lucie. You’re a fool to shun an earnest worker.’
Lucie did not like being called spiteful. ‘I have put him to simple tasks in the garden. But beyond that, what can he do, Bess? Tell me that.’
Bess shrugged. ‘Try him till you find out, woman. For pity’s sake, when Nicholas first brought you to the shop, did he throw up his hands and say you could do naught to help?’
‘That was different, Bess. I was to live here. I was his wife.’
Bess grinned. ‘Well, God help you if Sir Robert stays above a week, eh?’
‘He just might do that, Bess.’ Lucie told her of his offer of Corbett’s house.
Bess rolled her eyes. ‘Well, that’s a sticky one. If he meant to buy it for you and stay away, I would call it most generous. But if he means to visit often — ’ She shook her head. ‘Perhaps if you let him help you in these small ways — the garden, innocent things. .’ She patted Lucie’s arm. ‘You must not waste your father’s good intentions. You must guide him to those favours you can accept.’
Lucie found this conversation discomfiting. ‘Please, Bess. You know how busy I am. Busier now with the archbishop’s request. To put Sir Robert to work in the garden or the shop would require instruction. In the same time I could finish the chore.’
Bess had retrieved her arm and stood, hands on hips, looking stern. ‘True, you must train him the first time. But the next time he would do it without instruction.’
‘I hate to think of his staying that long.’
Bess shook her head slowly, as if not believing what she was hearing. ‘Are you not at all curious about him? Have you never wondered whether you have any of his traits? Besides his stubborn chin.’
Lucie touched her chin. ‘Sir Robert’s chin?’
‘Aye. Must be the D’Arby chin. Your Aunt Phillippa has it. And a backbone to match. Your father’s family outlives its spouses, have you not noticed?’
Lucie crossed herself. ‘Don’t say that, Bess. I do not want to outlive Owen.’
Bess rolled her eyes. ‘That was not the point. Your father is not the frail old man you think him.’
With a sigh, Lucie agreed. ‘I will put him to serious work in the garden on the morrow.’
Bess pressed Lucie’s arm. ‘You will not be sorry. You will be the better for it.’
Lucie did not think so, but she was tired of the argument. And perhaps a little curious. She rubbed her chin as she pushed open her garden gate.
Eleven
Owen was grateful when Nicholas de Louth grew quiet, winded from the long ride. And no wonder, with his flabby body and his ceaseless chatter, the man could not have a great store of breath. But for all his talk, he’d told Owen little of use. His men had found no witnesses to the attack on Alfred and Colin. One woman had noticed a group of men loitering on Skeldergate for several days. Only one had stood out in her mind, a fair-haired man with crooked teeth who shouted at the other men. But she had been at market when the attack occurred, and she had not seen the men since that day. An unhelpful harvest.