Candace Robb - The Lady Chapel

Cooper saw Owen's eye take in the scene and was quick to explain, " 'Twas a night for neither man nor beast, Captain Archer. I was chilled through all my clothes and then some. Thought I'd never stop shivering. Made the fire, stripped out of my wet things, put a hot poker to some spiced wine, and lay down close to the fire as I could get without burning myself."

Owen looked around the large room. The walls were whitewashed to brighten it, there were fresh rushes on the floor. A woman's touches. "Wives are always good at undoing a chill, eh?" Owen said.

"Aye, but Kate's away," Jack said. "Tending her sick mother," he added in a nervous tone.

"Are you recovered enough to talk with me?" Owen asked. "Answer some questions about your late Master?"

"I've warmed up just right. Come." Jack pulled a bench out from the wall and placed it within the fire's light. "Could you drink some ale?"

"I could at that, Master Cooper."

"Oh, Jack is fine, Captain Archer."

Owen nodded. "Then I'm Owen to you."

They settled down with two tankards of ale. Not as fine as Tom Merchet's, but acceptable. Jack Cooper stretched his stockinged feet out to the fire, toasting his toes. The cottage was quiet.

"Are your children with your wife?" Owen asked, making conversation before he launched into questions.

"Nay. They're out in the stables watching over a sick dog. Keeps 'em out of my way and makes 'em happy." Jack took another drink. "So what is it you'd like to know about the Master?"

"Did you ever meet any of his business partners?"

"Aye. Master Crounce, God rest his soul," Jack crossed himself.

"Other than Crounce?"

Jack screwed up his face and thought. "Nay." He shook his head. "I don't remember meeting any others."

"How did you get along with Master Crounce?"

An odd look flickered across the man's face. "He was a big help to Mistress Ridley. And always fair in his dealings with us who work the estate." Jack shrugged. "Cannot say much more than that. Is it true you lost your eye to a Saracen?"

Owen grinned. "Wish it had been a Saracen. If I'd killed him, I would have been forgiven all my sins. But it wasn't on crusade. The King's war, that's where I lost the eye." Owen took another drink.

The ale improved with time. "What is it you didn't like about Will Crounce?"

Jack looked surprised. "I said nothing about not liking him."

'What didn't you like?" Owen asked softly.

Jack looked down at his simmering toes. "It doesn't make me the murderer of Master Crounce and my Master."

"I never thought it did."

Jack took another thoughtful sip of his ale. "Master Crounce should have married again."

Owen thought about that response. "You mean he needed a woman?"

Jack nodded, still watching the fire.

"He got too friendly with Mistress Cooper?"

Jack closed his eyes. "I never caught them at it, but a man knows."

"Did you speak with him about it?"

Jack faced Owen now. His look said Owen was a fool to ask that question. "He was Master when my Master was away. I could not accuse him. Besides, it was Master Crounce recommended me to Master Ridley. I could not be ungrateful."

"Did he make free with other women here?"

Jack glanced back at the door, as if to make sure they were alone. "I don't like to tell tales, but I wondered about him and Mistress Ridley, if truth be told. Something in the way they caught each other's eye, something feeling too much like husband and wife."

"I wondered about that myself," Owen said, "so you haven't betrayed your Mistress, Jack. I thank you for being so honest."

Jack nodded and squinted up at Owen. "I'm no fool. You don't become Steward by being a fool."

"That's why I wanted to talk to you. The Steward sees into the heart of the estate."

Jack smiled. "Couldn't've said it better." He was quiet a moment. "So how did you lose your eye?"

Owen was tired of the story, and he needed to get out in the fresh air. The smoke was making his eye water, and any blurring of the good eye made him uneasy. He was as good as blind when his right eye failed him. But he owed Jack Cooper something for his hospitality and honesty.

So Owen told the Steward about the Breton jongleur he'd rescued from his companions and set free, only to catch him a few nights later slipping through the camp slitting the throats of prisoners whose ransoms would be most valuable to King Edward. As Owen attacked the jongleur, the jongleur's leman had attacked Owen. Owen had killed both of them, but not before the bitch had opened his eye.

Jack listened with a face shifting between wonder and regret. "1 would have liked the life of a soldier, I think."

"Perhaps. But by now you'd have more wounds on your body than you could count, if you were still alive. And you might be missing a limb or two."

"But I would have done something I could tell my boy about."

Owen shrugged. "If you even had a boy."

"No children yet?" Jack asked.

"No. But I've been married a year is all."

"Well," Jack said, "children will come, most like." He nodded. "And you'll have good stories to tell them."

Owen stood and stretched. Rubbed his eye. "God bless you for your hospitality, Jack." Owen held out his hand.

Jack jumped up and shook it heartily. "I wouldn't be thinking a jealous husband could be the murderer. Crounce was one for the ladies. But not Master Ridley. Not that I could tell. So why would someone do it?"

"That's the question, Jack."

"You know, you asked about business partners besides Master Crounce. There was John Goldbetter. He came once, and such a fuss they made over him. An impressive man, with fine clothes. But no rings that could match my Master's."

The rings. Owen had forgotten about them. He wondered how many of Ridley's rings were missing, along with the hand.

"How did Goldbetter act toward the Master and Mistress of the hall?" Owen asked.

"Oh, it was a good visit," Jack said. "His jokes made the ladies blush. He praised everything set before him. A most pleasant man."

"Thank you, Jack. I must be off now. God be with you."

Owen walked back to the house, deep in thought.

Cecilia met him, her face tear-stained and pale. "They have brought Gilbert's body," she said, one hand pressed to her middle, one near her mouth. "It is unholy, what they did to him." She looked deep into his eyes, asking for comfort.

Owen stood there woodenly, resisting the temptation to take Cecilia Ridley in his arms to comfort her. He recognized the hunger in her eyes and did not believe himself saint enough to resist it. He must do something to calm her. He had the powdered valerian root in his belt pouch that Lucie had suggested the widow take to sleep. He called for wine, slipped in some of the powder, and sat quietly watching Cecilia Ridley drink the mixture. He waited for the color to return to her face. Cecilia had found the wounds on her husband's body a shock, even though Ridley had been cleaned and wrapped in a shroud with sweet-smelling herbs.

"There was no need for you to look," Owen said.

"Of course there was need. I had to make sure he was prepared properly. Now I am reassured." Cecilia sipped some more.

"Can you describe all the rings your husband was wearing when he departed?"

"Rings? What do I care about rings?" Cecilia cried.

"If some are missing, we might find your husband's murderers by searching for the rings."

"Oh!" Cecilia gave him an apologetic look. "Of course." She rubbed her eyes. "I should be able to tell you what Gilbert wore that day. . " She put her head in her hands and thought.

Owen hoped he had not put too much of the powder in the drink. He had not wanted it to take effect so soon.

But finally Cecilia lifted her head and nodded to Owen. "That day Gilbert wore the rings he usually wore to impress. He said Archbishop Thoresby was a proud man. And, as this gift was for the chapel in which the Archbishop meant to be buried, Gilbert wanted the Archbishop to be proud to have our money. He wore four rings: a pearl, a ruby, a moonstone, and one hammered gold with no gems."