Candace Robb - The Lady Chapel

Brother Michaelo arrived shortly after midday. "Abbot Campian has informed His Grace that Martin Wirthir never arrived at the Abbey."

"No doubt. I went to escort him this morning and found the house deserted."

"Might His Grace know why you did not inform him of the situation?"

"I meant to, after closing the shop today."

The nostrils flared. "Indeed."

Owen came around from behind the counter, squaring his shoulders. "Do you think to question my honesty, Michaelo?"

Michaelo took two steps backward. "I shall tell His Grace what you have told me. Go in peace." He left quietly.

"Mistress Digby." Tildy opened the door wide.

"Aye, 'tis Magda, child. Get thy master out here. Magda needs a hand with sommat."

Owen stepped outside. It had begun to blow, and there was a dampness in the air. A storm approaching. Owen squinted in the dark. A handcart stood outside the gate. Magda motioned him over. Inside was a freshly slaughtered pig in a wooden tub.

"Be quick, then. Carry it in. 'Tis for thy family."

Owen carried it into the kitchen.

Tildy's eyes lit up. "What a great beast."

Lucie invited Magda to sit down by the fire. "It's a most generous gift, Mistress Digby."

" 'Tis not from Magda. 'Tis from the musician and Pirate. This belongs with it." She handed Lucie a piece of vellum.

Lucie frowned over it, then burst out laughing. She handed the note to Owen.

"Mistress Wilton, I have taken action at last. May this pig give you and Captain Archer much joy. Ambrose Coats."

Owen looked up at Lucie, who was dabbing her eyes with a corner of her apron.

Magda's eyes twinkled, too.

It irritated Owen that he could not see the humor they obviously saw. "What is so funny? What does he mean, 'taken action at last'?"

Lucie reached over and squeezed Owen's hand. "Remember his neighbor's pig? I asked Ambrose why he did not report his neighbor if the pig bothered him so, and he said that he did not like to start trouble with his neighbors. I think it was because of Martin and the secrecy necessary. Ambrose did not want his neighbor to look for a reason to get even."

"This is the neighbor's pig?"

Magda nodded. "Killed it last night."

"So you've seen Martin?" Owen said.

"Aye. Pirate suffers much. But Magda cleaned the arm, packed it with healing herbs, and tucked Pirate and Angel in a nice, safe place. They'll not feel homesick, they brought everything with them, even the cat." She chuckled. " 'Tis good sport, eh? The Crow will not find them."

Owen smiled. "Thoresby will be disappointed."

"Good." Magda stood up. "Must leave thee. Magda has had a long day."

Lucie stood up. "Thank you for bringing the pig and the news."

Magda nodded at her. "And a good time for it, eh? Thou shalt need plenty meat this winter."

"True enough. I will come see you soon."

Magda nodded. "Magda will see thee right. Dame Philippa shalt have naught to complain of." She hobbled out of the kitchen.

Owen turned to Lucie. "What did she mean?"

Lucie took his arm. "Tildy, will you lock up tonight?"

"Yes, Mistress."

Lucie led Owen up the stairs and closed the door behind them.

"All right," Owen said, "what does Magda know that I don't know? Are you with child? And you've told her but not me?"

"I am, but I didn't. She just knows these things, Owen. So? What do you think?"

"I don't like these games."

"It is no game, Owen."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm only just now certain. Believe me."

"You're not sorry?"

"Sorry? What a fool you are!" Lucie hugged him.

Owen reached his arms round her, but stopped, uncertain.

Lucie laughed. "You don't mean to deprive me of hugs till high summer?"

"High summer?"

Lucie pulled Owen's arms round her. "For pity's sake, Owen, don't make me regret what our love has wrought."

"The babe might grow up to be a soldier."

"Better that than an archbishop."

Now Owen hugged her, but more tenderly than usual.

The King greeted his Chancellor warmly. "So you have returned, John. Does this mean you found your murderer and have him safely locked up in your dungeons? Or perhaps you've executed him already."

"The major accomplices are dead, my King, but not the one who conceived of the murders."

"And he is locked up?"

"On the contrary. She is living the life of royalty."

Edward raised an eyebrow. "She? Your villain is a woman?"

"A most cunning woman."

"Living the life of royalty? What do you mean by that, John?"

"She is here at court, my Lord."

"At my court?" Edward stood up abruptly, walked over to the fire, held out his hands to warm them. "I hope you are not going to accuse Mistress Alice."

Thoresby felt a chill run down his back. How had the King guessed? He had told no one here at court. "Why do you say that, Your Grace? Why Alice?"

Edward turned a stern look on Thoresby. "She told me that she imprudently let you know she was privy to information about you that you would prefer no one knew. She has worried that you would try to discredit her before she could convince you of her discretion. You had made her fear you distrusted her and disapproved of her presence at court."

All cleverly true-except the fear part. Alice Perrers feared nothing. What could Thoresby say? "I was thinking of Queen Philippa-how ill she is, how much love she needs. It seemed cruel to let her see you with the Perrers woman."

"You would judge your King?"

"Forgive me. I saw it as a spiritual matter."

"And so you were about to accuse Alice?"

"I did not say that. I confess that she is right in fearing that I distrust her and disapprove of her presence at court. You have a wife, Your Grace. A most loving, beautiful, gracious-"

"Enough! You do not have to recite my Queen's virtues for me." The blue eyes had turned cold. "But I wonder what has changed in ten years, John. When I loved Marguerite you did not preach at me."

Thoresby felt the courage draining from him. He gulped some wine while he thought what to say. Marguerite. Obviously the Perrers bitch had told Edward. Sweet Jesu. "The circumstances were different ten years ago. Marguerite was at court, but not acknowledged as your mistress. It was all done discreetly so that no one would guess your relationship, particularly the Queen."

There was a nasty glow in the King's eyes. "Discreetly. Yes. As I recall, you pretended to be smitten. You escorted her here and there. And into my chamber. But perhaps you did not pretend, eh, John? Or did you act the part so well that you grew to believe it yourself?"

"Your Grace?"

"I have here a copy of a letter in which you swore your fealty to the fair Marguerite, described her body in intimate detail, and claimed the babe that she died trying to bear was yours." With his ever-present jewel-handled dagger, Edward poked through some papers on the table, squinted, selected one. He held it out to Thoresby.

"Your Grace." Thoresby took the paper, but did not look at it at once. He remembered the letter. Why had Marguerite not burned it as she had all the rest? What could he do? He held it up to the light, skimmed it. Dear God, it was worse than he'd remembered. The moles between Marguerite's buttocks and beneath her left nipple, the seallike bark she made as she rode him to ecstasy.

How ridiculously in love had Thoresby been to write such things? Completely, totally, overwhelmingly. And Marguerite had died so soon after he'd written the letter.

Thoresby knelt to his King, his head down, his right hand to his breast, his left hand crushing the letter.

"Useless to destroy the letter, John. 'Tis but a copy."

"Forgive me, my Lord. 1 was put in the way of temptation and could not resist."