‘He proved eager to do my bidding. I tried him sorely with the Sebastian seal. He failed, but he did not tuck his tail between his legs and cower away. He asked for another chance to prove himself. Courage. Perseverance. Good soldierly qualities.’
‘You never doubted his loyalty?’
Sir William tucked his chin in and frowned up through his eyebrows. ‘Should I have doubted it?’
Owen shrugged. ‘Did he ever do anything to make you doubt him?’
‘Nay.’ His voice went up at the end of the word — with doubt?
‘But there was something about him that made you pause.’
Ralph snorted. ‘Pause? Nay, run, by God. The man had a temper. Never cross him, that’s what his partners learned. So we let him choose his own men.’
‘He killed partners?’
‘No,’ Sir William said quickly, silencing his brother with a stern look. ‘No,’ Sir William repeated, this time softly, pleasantly, with a smile to Owen. ‘He fought with them. Came to blows. Afterwards they preferred to work with someone else. Said his temper flared with no spark that they could see. They were. . uneasy about him.’
‘Word gets round the barracks and no one will partner him.’ Ned nodded. ‘I’ve known some like that.’
Sir William looked grateful. ‘But we never had reports of his turning on us, if I understand that to be your question.’
Owen nodded. ‘Where did he find the two who disappeared?’
Both men shrugged.
‘You were not concerned?’
‘They looked as if they would fight well,’ Ralph said. ‘’Twas enough.’
Owen decided to ignore their puzzling indifference for now. ‘Hugh lived alone, did he?’
‘Aye,’ Ralph nodded. ‘A small house up on the bluffs south of here. Well hidden.’
‘Did he have a woman?’
Sir William shrugged. ‘We would not know that.’
‘Servants?’
‘Harry, his manservant. He’s round here somewhere. Want to speak with him?’
‘I do indeed.’
Owen leaned over towards Ralph. ‘You did nothing about his murder, did you?’
Ralph looked up, startled. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You did not ask around about it, try to piece it together. You thought it was one of his old mates, didn’t you? Perhaps the two missing men?’
Ralph snorted. ‘And who would have cared?’
‘Why have you said nothing to his father about his murder?’
Ralph reddened.
Sir William coughed. ‘We have not had a messenger headed for Leeds since then.’
Owen grinned.
Louth looked at him, puzzled.
Owen shrugged. ‘Can you find Harry for us?’
Sir William nodded to Ralph, who departed without a word.
The middle-aged Harry was hard of hearing. Owen sat close to him and spoke loudly into his ear. ‘Was there any trouble at the house before Hugh Calverley died?’
Harry grinned a devilish grin. ‘A pretty redhead. Aye.’
‘He doesn’t understand,’ Louth said softly.
Owen ignored him. ‘A woman visited him?’
Harry nodded. ‘Called him brother.’ He rolled his expressive eyes.
‘What was her name?’
Harry shook his head. ‘Never gave it.’
Or Harry never heard it. But Owen had watched him when he first came in the room. He seemed to get the gist of what people were saying by watching their lips. ‘Any other trouble?’
Harry chuckled. ‘Always trouble round Master Hugh. He was watching a house, I can tell you that. I can even show you. Got interested when I told him I’d seen that one-legged man there.’
‘Longford?’
‘Aye.’ Harry nodded. ‘That’d be him.’
‘How long ago did you see Longford there?’
Harry shrugged. ‘A few years past.’
Owen sat back, frowning. ‘Do you mean to say Hugh watched this particular house for a few years?’
Harry held his hand up to his ear. ‘What?’
Owen leaned closer and repeated the question.
‘Oh, aye. On and off, you see. I’d tell ’im when I saw folk he might find interesting.’
‘What sort of folk?’
‘Soldier types. Or folk who seemed out of place.’
‘And who was it most recently?’
‘The redhead.’
‘You will take us to the house?’
Harry nodded. ‘This evening. Better then. In the dark.’
Louth knocked on the door to the small room Owen was sharing with Ned and Alfred. Being a canon of Beverley and clerk to Prince Edward, Louth had been offered his own chamber, equally small, but private. Ned had gone off with Alfred in search of amusement, and Owen had been lying on his cot, thinking over the morning’s business. He did not welcome an interruption and sighed at the second round of knocking. ‘What is it?’
Louth opened the door only wide enough to poke his head in. ‘I would speak with you.’
Owen nodded.
Louth settled on the edge of Ned’s cot. The flesh on his round face was slack, as if the trip was taking its toll. ‘You were on the heels of something about the Percies not reporting Hugh’s death. Why did you veer away?’
‘I want to worry them.’
Louth blinked. ‘Why?’
‘People do foolish things when they worry.’
‘What do you expect them to do?’
Owen shrugged. ‘We shall see.’
Louth lowered his eyes. ‘You do not trust me.’ Petulant.
Did he trust Louth? Owen had little confidence in him, but he believed Louth meant well. ‘I do not know what they are hiding, Sir Nicholas. It is but a feeling I have.’
Louth met his eye again. ‘You might have got it out of them right away.’
‘No. They have no reason to confide in me, much less confess to me if it comes to that. Not now. Not yet.’
‘What do you think we shall learn seeing the house Hugh was watching?’
‘Perhaps nothing. But Harry himself is interesting. Joanna came to mind when I asked him about trouble. Why?’ Owen nodded. ‘Harry will be far more helpful than the Percies, I think.’ He slapped his thighs, rose. ‘I need a good walk, fresh air. Want to walk the battlements with me?’
Louth’s eyes widened in horror. ‘Faith, no. I shall go to the chapel.’
Owen grinned. He had guessed that Louth would shrink at the suggestion. Now he would have time alone to think.
Sixteen
Daimon ran to keep up with Lucie, who marched down Davygate, hurrying after Brother Sebastian, her pale shawl fluttering behind her. It was so early that few folk were about, and the river damp intensified the stench of sewage in the narrow streets. At this moment Daimon was not enamoured of the great city of York; but he adored the woman who kept so many steps ahead of him, and he would gladly live and die in this crowded, dark, stinking city if it meant he could be near her. He had lost his heart just moments ago when Lucie Wilton had wakened him in the shop and whispered her request that he accompany her to the abbey without waking Sir Robert.
‘Sir Robert sleeps so soundly,’ she had said. ‘I would fain let him get his rest.’
Daimon had not been able to take his sleepy eyes from her hair, strands of red and gold shimmering in the lamplight. Mistress Wilton crouched on the floor beside his pallet, leaning close. She had a warm, sweet scent. Lord. He had thought her lovely before, but at that moment, her hair loose, her body warm from bed, her breath so sweet. . Jesu, give him strength to control himself.
She had had to repeat what she had said to him.
Daimon had, with great effort, pulled his eyes away from her and considered. ‘Leave Sir Robert?’ He shook his head. ‘He will not like it.’
‘Please.’ She touched his shoulder. So gently. ‘We must go quickly, Daimon. Brother Sebastian waits in the kitchen. Dame Joanna is injured.’
‘Badly?’
‘Would they send for me at this dark hour otherwise?’
That had seemed a good reason to risk Sir Robert’s anger. Daimon had agreed. He saw now how wise that had been. Sir Robert would have lagged far behind. Mistress Wilton glanced back as she turned into Lop Lane, paused, waited for Daimon to catch up, grabbed his hand. Glory to God on the highest!