After the servants had departed, Matthew settled himself in the ornate chair, propping his feet on the footrest. When he had adjusted the two items to his satisfaction, he rose and poured himself a mazer of ale from a pitcher. ‘Come, help yourselves, gentlemen. Ale, wine, mead. Whatever is your pleasure.’ He had changed into an elegantly patterned gown and matching shoes with pointed toes.
Owen poured himself a cup of ale, tasted it and held the cup up to toast his host. ‘A fine brew. Second only to Tom Merchet’s at the York Tavern.’
Matthew nodded, busy settling back in his chair. Louth rose and poured himself some wine, tasted it, smiled at the cup. He, too, evidently surprised by the quality.
But then it was a substantial house, well situated, large, with adequate servants. Not as modern a house as another wool merchant’s Owen had visited in the past year, but quite impressive. The only thing truly surprising was the mood of the household. It did not feel like a house in mourning.
Perhaps the innkeeper had been having fun with them, feeding them a pack of lies.
‘It might be advisable to include Mistress Calverley in this discussion,’ Owen suggested.
‘Mistress? The mistress of this house is but a child, gentlemen.’ He laughed at their confusion. ‘My daughter, Sarasina, is mistress now.’
‘Your wife is dead, Master Calverley?’
‘Dead?’ The pig eyes moved up to the ceiling, rested there, moving side to side. ‘Well, I cannot say for certain, Master Archer. But she has been gone some time.’ He lowered his gaze to Owen’s single eye. ‘So what has Joanna done to warrant your interest?’
Hiding his confusion as best he could, Owen said, ‘Your daughter ran away from the convent just before midsummer last year. Took a relic from the convent to buy help in her disappearance.’
Matthew shook his head. ‘She was ever difficult, was Joanna. But to steal a relic. .’ He took a long drink. ‘And what happened? They caught her at it?’ He shook his head. ‘But no, not a year ago. You would not be here telling me. .’
‘She arranged for a false funeral, then disappeared for almost a year.’ Owen watched Matthew’s expressive face, saw there a mixture of admiration and distress.
‘I suppose Anne was informed and neglected to tell me.’ Matthew suddenly stiffened, his eyes troubled. ‘If the Reverend Mother sent a messenger I did not see — Could that be what happened? Anne feared she had some part in Joanna’s death?’
Louth shook his head. ‘The Reverend Mother said she did not inform your family — that you had given instructions that Joanna was never to be mentioned.’
Matthew closed his eyes a moment, breathed deeply. ‘Anne’s instructions, not mine.’ He looked up at Owen. ‘I am glad it was not that. So. Then what happened?’
‘Last month Joanna suddenly appeared in Beverley, at the house of a man called Will Longford. She sought the relic, hoping to return it to St Clement’s and be accepted back herself.’
‘Will Longford?’ Matthew turned his head to the side, as if listening to an invisible person beside him.
Owen leaned forward, hopeful. ‘The man from whose house Joanna staged her funeral. Do you know the name?’
Matthew turned back to Owen, nodding slowly. ‘I believe I do. Yes. I do. And as was ever the case with Joanna, her trouble points back to Hugh.’
‘Her brother?’
Matthew dropped his head, as if deep in thought, then lifted it up with a wary look. ‘But why exactly are you here?’
‘Since your daughter’s return, Longford’s maidservant has been murdered and the corpse of Longford’s cook has been discovered in the grave dug for your daughter’s false burial. Both deaths were violent.’
Matthew looked alarmed. ‘God help us! You don’t think Joanna murdered them?’
‘No. But the fact that Joanna put such effort into getting away from the priory only to ask to be accepted back a year later is passing strange. We want to know just what her arrangement was with Longford.’
‘This Will Longford is no help?’
‘He is missing.’
Matthew crossed himself. ‘What has Joanna got into?’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘She will not talk?’
Owen shrugged. ‘Will not talk or cannot remember, it is difficult to tell.’
Matthew nodded again. ‘With Joanna that can be impossible. As with her mother.’ He was quiet a moment, then suddenly slapped his thighs, looked at each of his guests. ‘So you wish me to take Joanna back, is that it?’
The suggestion surprised Owen. ‘No. Though perhaps it will come to that.’
Matthew gave a big sigh. ‘I would rather it did not come to that, Master Archer. Not that I don’t love the girl, but it has lightened the burden of my advancing age to have those three gone. I had forgotten how quiet and sweet life could be.’
Owen and Louth exchanged a look. ‘Three, Master Calverley?’ Louth said.
‘Anne and her little demons, Joanna and Hugh. They were purely of Anne’s blood, gentlemen, as Edith and Frank are purely of mine. Sarasina — ’ he shrugged ‘ — so far she has her mother’s beauty but a placid spirit. God has been merciful.’ Matthew crossed himself again.
Owen found Matthew Calverley’s reactions puzzling. He wished to slow down and study the man, but he must carry on while the man was in a good humour. ‘I know this must be painful to you, Master Calverley, but what exactly happened to Mistress Calverley?’
Matthew got up, poured more ale, held onto the little table while he gulped down a considerable amount, topped his mazer, and returned to his seat. ‘What exactly. Well, I cannot exactly say. She walked away one morning, a cold, dark day. When she had been gone too long for such cold, I went looking.’ He shrugged. ‘I never found her. She never returned.’
Owen glanced out of the window, remembering the river.
Matthew caught the look. ‘You are thinking she walked into the river.’ He frowned, nodded. ‘Her cloak lay not far from the riverbank, hanging on a branch, as if she had put it there to keep it out of the mud.’ Matthew was silent a moment, staring down at his feet. Then he sighed, looked back at Owen with a forced smile. ‘But I prefer to think she ran off with someone who shares her strangeness. You see, Joanna and Hugh shared their strangeness, and they were content in each other’s company.’
That brief moment of silence, then the forced smile; at last Owen felt he had glimpsed Matthew’s suffering. Deep, kept down with a strong will. Might the drowning story have been told to stop gossip? ‘Was your wife sad that Joanna and Hugh had grown up and left her?’
Matthew rolled his eyes. ‘Far from it. By then Anne wanted nothing to do with either of them. She said — ’ An odd, dark look came over the round face, then passed. ‘No matter what she said. Anne saw the world sideways and upside-down. But I tell you, life has been quiet since the moon-mad Boulains have been out of the house.’
‘You have never searched the river?’
Matthew closed his eyes. ‘She was a beautiful woman, Master Archer. And the madness — it can be captivating, I tell you. The faraway look in the eyes, the half-smile.’ He shook his head. ‘She had that look on that cold, grey morning. So beautiful she was.’ Tears crept from the closed lids. ‘I wish to remember her that way. It would — ’ His voice broke. He wiped his cheeks with his sleeves. ‘I do not want to know.’
Owen rose and poured himself more ale, stared out of the window, working to put down the image — of Lucie, bloated, lifeless — that wanted to darken his mind. He had seen the bodies of the drowned. He understood why Matthew did not wish to see his wife so.
Louth’s voice broke him out of his reverie. ‘Where is your son Hugh, Master Calverley?’