Candace Robb - The Lady Chapel

Bess snorted. "Nay, Crounce spoke of Ridley's wife and daughter. Mistress Ridley never saw her husband, the daughter is married to a man whom Crounce called a brute and Ridley called ambitious, determined to be knighted."

"Where is Gilbert Ridley now?"

Bess shrugged. "Paid his bill and left while I was at the bakery. My husband let him go without a question. Tom had not heard about the trouble."

"And you found the hand in Ridley's room?"

"Right there in the middle of the floor. If Kit had seen it when she came up to clean the room, we would have had a fine scene, I can tell you. We'd have no work out of that girl for a fortnight, at least."

"This argument," Owen said, "would you say it was serious enough to end in murder?"

Bess smiled at her best friend's handsome husband and gave a decided shake to her ribbons. "Nay. 'Twas friends getting too honest in their cups, just as Master Ridley said."

"Ridley went up to his room after Crounce left and stayed there?" Owen asked.

"It's a private room. What he did after we were all abed I cannot say. The hand could not have walked up there itself." Bess looked them both in the eye. "And there's something else." Before Thoresby could stop Bess, she had leaned over and unwrapped the unsavory bundle. "Crounce wore a signet ring on his right hand, the hand that lifted his tankard. Gone now. Find the ring, find the murderer I would say."

Thoresby used a quill to flip the cover back over the hand. "I trust I can count on you not to speak of your discovery to anyone else, Mistress Merchet? We do not want to ruin Gilbert Ridley's good name." Ridley had once hinted that he would pledge a large sum to the minster fund.

Bess sniffed. "We'll see about that good name, won't we? But never fear, I can be trusted, Your Grace. And I hope I can trust you not to reveal to the world at large that such a thing was found in my inn."

"Captain Archer and I will use the information only as necessary."

Bess nodded with satisfaction and sipped her wine. "I hear it was a boy found the body."

Thoresby did not like the way Bess Merchet was settling in for a long chat. He rose. "I shall keep you no longer, Mistress Merchet. As you say, you are a busy woman."

Bess drained her cup and stood, smoothing out her skirts. "Your Grace," she said with a little curtsy.

"Thank you for your assistance, Mistress Merchet."

"I could do no less, Your Grace." She swept out of the room with haughty dignity.

Owen waited until he heard the outside door latch shut before he spoke. "So. Are you thinking that Ridley murdered Crounce after the argument last night?"

Thoresby shook his head. "Too obvious. My guards are idiots enough to leave damning evidence behind them-but Ridley has been a key negotiator in Goldbetter and Company's business in Calais and London for years. To last that long in such a position takes a clever man. A man good at covering his trail."

"Crounce was a business partner?"

"According to Jehannes, yes. Ridley's man here in York and Hull."

"Someone cut off Crounce's right hand to accuse him of theft? And left that accusation with his business partner?"

Thoresby shrugged. "That is what we must discover." He walked over to the fire and stood quietly, contemplating its depths, his hands clasped behind him. Suddenly he turned. "I want you to go after Ridley. He will not be far from the city yet. I presume he is headed home. To Riddlethorpe. His manor near Beverley."

"You want me to leave at once?"

"Yes. Catch him while he's in shock. See what he knows. Offer to escort him home. You might search his bags. She could be right about the signet ring, but perhaps Ridley took it for safekeeping. As I said, I want this cleared up quickly. I do not want this worry on my mind at Windsor."

"I would hate to dampen your enjoyment," Owen said, making no effort to hide his irritation with Thoresby's priorities.

"It will hardly be a pleasurable sojourn for me, Archer. I shall be busy with official duties throughout the celebration."

Owen shrugged. "What of the boy who witnessed the murder?"

"Jasper de Melton?" Thoresby shook his head. "His mother is dying. Jasper told us what he saw. Leave the boy alone for now."

"He may know something more."

"Not now."

"He may be in danger."

"It was dark. He could not make out the faces, so neither could they make out his."

"You know full well the whole city will soon hear this Jasper witnessed the murder."

Thoresby dismissed the subject with a shake of his head. "Ridley is more important to us. Michaelo will deliver a letter with my seal introducing you to Gilbert Ridley."

"Your Grace does not afford me the courtesy of asking for my cooperation?"

Thoresby raised an eyebrow. "I never ask."

Owen strode out of the Archbishop's presence bristling; beneath the patch, needles of pain shot across his useless eye. What bothered Owen, besides Thoresby's power over him, was the Archbishop's cold unconcern for the boy. Jasper de Melton was of no significance because he was neither a prominent guild member nor rich. Owen hated Thoresby for that shake of the head.

But Owen could not deny the thrill he felt at a chance for a trip outside the city.

Lucie slowly mixed calendula oil into a spoonful of cream with a small wooden spatula. "Beverley?" she repeated without looking up from her work, "they say the minster there is grand." She was mixing a supply of the salve that kept Owen's scar from drawing and burning. More than four years and it still gave him pain.

"My purpose is not a pilgrimage," Owen said.

Lucie handed Owen the jar. "Keep it safe. And use it. I don't want a rough cheek scratching me at night." She kissed his scar. "I will miss you, but you have yearned to get out of the city. Too many years of soldiering. You find it hard to sit still."

Owen shook his head, amazed. He thought he'd kept the excitement out of his voice. "How is it that you divine my thoughts and I still find you an enigma?" He also found it disappointing that she had not protested his going away. "Will you miss me?"

Her blue eyes widened. "Of course I will miss you. I said I would."

Owen grinned.

"It is hard to run the shop without an apprentice."

The smile froze on Owen's face.

Lucie laughed at his consternation. "Silly oaf. I'll lie awake missing you."

As Owen gathered what he would need for his journey, Lucie paced their bedchamber. "I wonder whether Gilbert Ridley has any idea whose hand he found in his room?"

"How could he?"

"How will you give him the bad news? Ridley told Bess that Crounce was his dearest friend."

"Better that than breaking the news to Crounce's wife. I wonder who will handle that?"

"No need to worry. Joan Crounce died of plague four years ago."

"Now, how did you discover that piece of information?"

"The stranger I brought to York. He said to watch the Mercers' play in particular, that Will Crounce had lost himself in his playacting since his wife's death of the plague."

Owen looked at Lucie. Her startling blue eyes were fixed on him, waiting for-an answer. They had argued about the stranger, spent several cool evenings after Lucie had returned from nursing her Aunt Philippa. Owen had warned Lucie not to pick up strangers on the road. She was so lovely. Dear God, he knew what the stranger had been after. "Have you seen him again?"

Lucie sighed. "That is not the topic of discussion."

"Have you?"

"No I have not, Owen Archer. And if I had, what would be the harm in it? I can service only one man at a time, and at the moment I have all I can do to keep you satisfied." Lucie grabbed Owen's arm and put it around her slender waist, then pulled his head down for a kiss.

Owen resolved to forget the stranger. "You can do something for me.