Candace Robb - The Lady Chapel

"It is no wasteland to me. You speak like a Southerner. But you were born in the Dales, were you not?"

Thoresby frowned. "I do not recall speaking to you about my family." He did not like people getting overfamiliar.

Ridley bowed his head in apology. "I am offering you a large sum

of money for what I hear is to be your tomb. I wanted to know everything I could about you, to make sure that this is how I wished to thank the Lord for my good life."

They were quiet as Maeve, the cook, arranged the food before them. Thoresby, thinking the conversation might turn to Crounce's murder, had asked Maeve to serve them. He trusted her.

Thoresby watched Ridley take a pouch out of a pack he'd brought with him and add a small amount of powder to his wine. Maeve gave it a curious sniff as she passed and wrinkled her nose.

"What is that you mix in your wine?" Thoresby asked.

Ridley drank it down and shuddered, then wiped his mouth. "A tonic my wife doses me with. She has been giving it to me since midsummer. Foul tasting, but she hopes it will calm my nerves and settle my stomach. Recently she has softened the taste a bit. Still wretched. But I humor her. I must confess to some alarm as the fit of my clothing gets worse and worse."

Maeve set a second flagon of wine near Ridley, glancing down at his waist where his tunic was gathered tightly by an ornate belt.

Thoresby followed her gaze and nodded. "A costly condition. Perhaps you should talk to the apothecary next to your inn. Lucie Wilton is very knowledgeable."

Ridley shook his head. "Cecilia would not take it well."

"Even if it helped?"

"There is no guarantee of that."

Maeve disappeared.

"Well, eat hearty," Thoresby told his guest, "you need more fat on you for the winter months."

Ridley chuckled and poured himself more wine. "Even my goldsmith has benefited-I had him make all my rings smaller."

Thoresby glanced down at Ridley's beringed fingers, remembering Archer's comments about Ridley's foolhardy magnificence on the road. "I trust you do not display your jewels when abroad in the city or traveling?"

Ridley lifted his left hand and wiggled his fingers. The pearl and the moonstone were large, their gold settings heavy. "Captain Archer thought me a dangerously foolish peacock on the road. I have since been more prudent. But here in the city it is important to look splendid. Good for business."

"Not on the streets, I should think."

Ridley shrugged.

They ate in companionable silence for a while; then Ridley began to prod the Archbishop for news of the court. "They do say there is a new lady-in-waiting who has captured the King's heart."

Thoresby flinched. Even here the upstart Perrers cast a pall over his mood. "I have kept to myself of late, except for my duties as Chancellor."

Ridley gave up the effort.

After dinner, as they sat before the fire with brandywine, Thoresby opened the business. "This is a large sum of money you offer for my Lady Chapel, Ridley. So much money would buy a beautiful stained-glass window. Two, in fact. That is the more common donation when the sum is so large. An appropriate saint's story with your face and perhaps that of your wife on figures in the window, your family crest in the corner, or your name and guild affiliation, that sort of thing."

Ridley shook his head. "I particularly did not want to bring attention to myself with this gift. I want the Lord to know it is from my heart, not a bribe of any kind."

Thoresby sat back and considered this changed man. "Why such generosity, Ridley?" he asked quietly.

Ridley reddened. "You do not wish to accept my donation?"

"That is not it. But such a large sum. And I detect-forgive me for mentioning it, but there is such a change in you-something has subdued you. This is not a penance, is it? Something troubling you?"

"Good heavens, Your Grace," Ridley exclaimed, rising. "If I had known my money was so suspect, I never would have offered it!"

"Please, my friend, sit down. You must forgive me. But this chapel is important to me. I will be buried there. And I want it to be clear of any criticism. I want no blood money put into it."

"This is not blood money. If you will, it is a symbol of my devotion, my realization with Will's death that I have had a blessed life and it can end all too soon. I must make those provisions I most want to make before death catches me unawares."

Thoresby could certainly understand that. "Please. Forgive me." He offered Ridley more brandywine. Ridley accepted with pleasure.

"I regret many things in my life, Your Grace, but I know that money to the Church cannot undo them."

"What sort of regrets?"

Ridley was silent a moment. Then he sighed and said, "I gave my daughter to a man who I now realize is the Devil incarnate. 1 would that I could undo that."

Thoresby smiled. "Fathers often feel that way about their daughters' husbands."

Ridley reddened. "Do not make light of my honest confession."

"Forgive me again," Thoresby said. "Is there any hope of annulment?"

"No. The marriage has definitely been consummated." Ridley passed his ringed hands over his eyes, a weary gesture. "My son-in-law also appears to be a bragging fool. He tells all that he will soon be knighted. But the simpleton's done nothing to earn a knighthood. He's been neither diplomat nor soldier. The only battles he's fought are with my daughter."

"I am sorry." Thoresby studied Ridley's trembling hand, the pain in the man's eyes. "No, I am more than sorry. I am grieved for you and your family."

Ridley sipped his brandywine, took a deep breath. "So your tomb is to be in the Lady Chapel," he said, changing the subject. "How did you come to choose that?"

Thoresby did not answer at once, caught off balance by the shift. "How did I choose it? Ah, well, it was a prayer to Our Lady that brought the sign I needed to know that I was called to the Church."

"You were not a second son?"

Thoresby smiled. "Yes, but I had made myself quite useful at court and was rising with pleasant speed. I would have had a position at court for certain." Thoresby stared into the fire. "Although these days being a rising star at court is not such an honor-it has become too easy."

"Perhaps there is hope for my son-in-law then, eh?" Ridley said, smiling. Then he burped rather loudly.

Thoresby glanced up from his dark study of the fire.

Ridley reddened. "Pardon me, Your Grace." He burped again.

"Was it something in the supper?"

"Nay. 'Tis every night like this. For months now."

"Even with your good wife's tonic?"

Ridley nodded. "You know, I sometimes have the uncharitable suspicion that some of the symptoms have worsened with her ministrations, not improved. But we have struck a delicate balance in our affections, of late, and I will do nothing to upset that."

"The brandywine should help you digest your food."

"It is most soothing. Most soothing." Ridley made a little face as he fought down another burp. He rose. "Your Grace, I think it time I returned to my room at the York Tavern. It is a long journey tomorrow and, as you see, I am not as strong as I used to be."

Thoresby accompanied Ridley to the door. Maeve brought Ridley's cloak.

"Would you like my secretary, Brother Michaelo, to accompany you to the inn?" Thoresby offered.

Ridley looked embarrassed. "No need. Really. I am quite used to this. And the inn is so close."

Thoresby regretted his easy acquiescence next morning when Archdeacon Jehannes stumbled upon Ridley's body in the minster yard. "I have heard a slit throat described as the hideous grin of Death," Jehannes said, his face gray, "and that is exactly what I thought. The eyes, staring up, the lips blue, and below them, another, unholy set of blood-red lips-" he shivered. "And a raw stump where his right hand should be."