Candace Robb - The Lady Chapel

"I know it concerned your wife and daughter." Owen, watching the color of Ridley's face deepen with an embarrassed flush, knew it was a cruel thing to say, but Owen had to know everything. There was no way Ridley could say this or that had no bearing on his friend's murder-not if he was telling the truth.

"Someone overheard. I should not be surprised. We did get loud. I meant to apologize today, treat Will to a grand meal."

"Tell me about the argument."

"I have been an absent husband, absent father. My business kept me away from Riddlethorpe but for brief visits. Will spent more time with my family than I did. He thought I was unkind to my wife, Cecilia. To be honest, I thought he was perhaps too fond of my wife. So the argument got tangled. And then he started on my daughter's husband. The young man was my choice, you see, and he's turned out to be-impatient-with my daughter. Cecilia is unhappy because Anna-that's my daughter-is unhappy. Will blamed me for all of it."

"That is a heavy burden."

Ridley nodded. "But there's much truth to it."

"Your daughter's husband was a business partner?"

"Paul Scorby of Ripon. Good family. I had some business dealings with them a long time ago. Nothing recently. But they are of good blood. My son, Matthew, lived in their household and learned how to go about with such people. Paul Scorby is ambitious, though perhaps more of a dreamer than a doer. I did not see that then. I thought him a good match for Anna."

"Had Crounce argued with Scorby?"

Ridley shook his head. "He would not have interfered like that. No. I cannot see how our argument had anything to do with Will's death."

Owen shrugged.

"I am sorry I can be of so little help," Ridley said.

Owen shaded his eye and looked off in the distance. "By the time we get to Riddlethorpe, you might think of something that will help."

Ridley started. "You're going to Riddlethorpe?"

Owen nodded. "1 offer you my protection."

Ridley frowned. "What need have I of protection?"

"A good friend and business partner has been murdered, and his severed hand deliberately left in your room, Master Ridley. For unknown reasons. Will Crounce might have had a chance encounter with a robber, but he might have been murdered by someone he knew. And that someone seems to also know you. He may be after you at this very time."

Ridley took off his hat and mopped his forehead. His hair was matted down with sweat. "Sweet Mother of God."

"You must look to your safety."

Ridley regarded Owen more closely than he had until now. "You look more like an outlaw than a protector."

Owen touched the patch. "You are not the first to say so."

"How did you lose your eye?"

"In the service of the old Duke of Lancaster. A French campaign. I caught someone murdering our prize prisoners."

"And now you're in John Thoresby's service?"

"From time to time."

"Owen Archer, you said?" Owen nodded. "Captain of Archers, were you?"

"A good guess."

"To tell the truth, I've heard you called Captain. And with that West Country manner of speech." Ridley shrugged. "You married Nicholas Wilton's widow, I think?"

"I did."

"Mistress Archer is of noble stock, at least on her father's side."

"Mistress Wilton, not Archer."

Ridley frowned. "And why is that?"

"The guild. The Archbishop coerced them into allowing Lucie both to continue the work she'd begun as Nicholas Wilton's apprentice and to marry me. But they insisted she keep the name to remind me that I have no claims to the shop if she dies."

"Pity she could not use her family name. I know Sir Robert D'Arby. A fine gentleman. In fact, if you wish to check my character, your wife's father would vouch for me." Ridley said this with pride.

"My wife's father?"

Ridley nodded. "I procured some horses for Sir Robert during the siege of Calais. He can attest to my good character, I assure you."

"How did you come to know Sir Robert?"

"You know how wars are waged. Deals among the nobles. They also make deals with local merchants, and vice versa. We knew trouble was coming, and it would affect us particularly, we who traded over there. I knew it was important to make a good impression on the man who might become governor of Calais, and at the time it looked to be Sir Robert D'Arby."

Owen did not want to discuss Lucie's family. "Master Ridley, considering the unpleasant item left in your room, 1 think it wise I check your packs."

"For what?"

"Something equally unpleasant. Or harmful to you."

Ridley blanched. "I cannot think who would want to harm me."

"May I examine your packs?"

"Please do."

Ridley watched Owen's search from a comfortable spot. Owen could sense the man's uneasiness, but could not tell whether Ridley feared what Owen would find or knew of something he did not want Owen to see. It must have been the former, because there was nothing suspicious in the packs.

Ridley looked relieved. "Perhaps the hand was just the prank of a madman."

Owen nodded. "We should move on if we're to reach Beverley by dusk. Will you accept my company?"

Ridley looked at his servants, idly lounging by the pack horses. One young, one grizzled, with several teeth gone. Neither trained to fight. Ridley looked back at Owen-tall, broad-shouldered, threatening. "Oh, aye. I'll be glad of your company, Captain Archer."

The road to Beverley wound through flat countryside rather than moorland, with little to distract the traveler but talk. Ridley rode close to Owen, reminiscing about his friendship with Crounce. Owen recognized Ridley's need to talk of his friend, part of the ritual of mourning.

"I had looked forward to spending time with Will, now that I've handed the Goldbetter and Company business over to my son, Matthew."

"You are generous to your son, giving him your business."

"It is just part of my business."

"Why that part?"

Ridley was quiet a while. Then, at last, he said in a voice almost drowned out by the horses, "I felt the years settling in my bones. I had built a grand house, and I wanted some time to enjoy it."

Owen believed him, but doubted that was the whole reason.

Bess tapped Lucie on the shoulder. "You've not had supper, have you?"

Lucie straightened up and rubbed her eyes. She'd been working on the ledger since she had closed the shop, hoping to finish a neat copy of the list of herbs, roots, powders, and other ingredients in the shop that she'd made since returning from her Aunt Philippa. "This should have been finished weeks ago, Bess. If I let it go, there's always a danger that I will be caught without something. People's lives depend on my records."

"And why did Owen not make up the list while you were away?"

Lucie sighed. "He's still learning, Bess. It was enough for him to watch the shop. And he did well. I have no complaints."

Bess gave a disapproving sniff. "A fine time for him to take off on an adventure for the Archbishop."

"It was not Owen's choice."

"Well, never mind." Bess pushed a trencher of hard bread heaped with stew in front of Lucie, then poured ale into a large cup. "Now, then, do your best with that."

Bess poured herself a cup and sat down opposite Lucie to make sure she ate. Lucie laughed and dipped a spoon into the stew.

"The shop was uncommonly busy today, I thought," Bess said, resting her strong arms on the table, her sleeves still rolled up from a day's cleaning and cooking.

Lucie nodded. "People are using any excuse they can dream up to come in and ask about the murder. They know Owen was called to the Archbishop's palace. Which is good; Owen wanted me to find out more about the boy who witnessed the attack."

"So what do you know?"

"That his mother, Kristine de Melton, died today. And Jasper de Melton has disappeared."