Candace Robb - The Lady Chapel

Ridley beamed with pride. "Wine, dried meats, and fruits. I have learned much in my travels. I will show you in the morning. Another woman would show it off, but Cecilia hates all that. In fact, I complained about her just last night to Will. He defended her, arguing that she is virtuous in preferring simplicity. Is it a sin to enjoy what God has granted? All the cloth I bought for her, the jewels, the silver-you see how she displays the plate, as if it's to sell, not to eat on." Ridley shook his head. "I know what you think, she must come from common stock. Not in the least! She is a bishop's niece. Her father was a knight."

Owen did not wish to offer an opinion. "You will not object to a few more questions?"

"That depends."

"About your business, nothing personal."

Ridley shrugged.

"What was your working relationship with Will Crounce? Are there any others who might know something?"

Ridley seemed to think it a reasonable line of questioning. "When John Goldbetter decided he needed me in London and Calais rather than York and Hull, I looked around for a younger

man who already knew something of the wool trade and found Will Crounce. His wife's father, Joseph Stephenson, was in the guild in York and was teaching Will the trade, but he'd lost a deal of money and was happy to recommend his son-in-law."

"You are certain Stephenson did not resent giving up a hard worker?"

Ridley looked surprised, then nodded. "I see. You wonder whether Stephenson is somehow involved in his son-in-law's death? Impossible. He is dead. Almost the entire family died of plague. One of those families that seems to live under a curse. But, even so, I always had a good relationship with them."

"So Crounce looked after your interests in York and Hull?"

"Goldbetter's interests, truth be told. We all work for Goldbetter."

Owen gestured around the hall. "You've done well."

Ridley nodded. "I've been loyal through good times and bad. Goldbetter trusts me."

"How did he feel about Crounce?"

Ridley considered the question. "I'm not sure he ever met Will. It was enough for John Goldbetter that I was pleased with the arrangement."

"Did Crounce work with anyone else?"

"Occasional clerks. They come and go."

"How did you communicate?"

"Messengers."

"Any particular one?"

Ridley swirled the wine in his cup. Owen had the distinct feeling that the delay was not to search his memory, but that Ridley found the question uncomfortable and was deciding how much to say. Owen watched him. This was a part of questioning that Owen did well. An archer was trained to wait, watch, motionless but ready to strike. He had trained himself to silently observe the person while waiting for the answer, not repeating the question. This let the person know that he knew the question had been heard the first time, a tactic Owen had learned by observing Bess Merchet. It was a nice way to put his old skills to work.

"The messenger is not the most savory character is why I hesitate," Ridley said finally. "But he would have no cause to murder Will."

"Still, I would talk with him. He may know something useful."

Ridley rubbed his double chin and frowned. "That's a problem. 1 have no idea how to find him."

"You cannot be serious."

Ridley shrugged. "He just appeared at regular intervals and received his orders. And now that I've handed the business over to my son and Will is gone, I doubt that I'll see the man again."

"A surprisingly inefficient arrangement."

Ridley sighed and threw up his hands. "You must understand. With our on-and-off war with France, it is impossible to find someone both honest and capable to run messages across the Channel. Wirthir was willing enough and exceptionally reliable- for good pay, of course-and so I did not ask questions. But I suspect he did some pirating or smuggling on the side."

"Wirthir?"

"Martin Wirthir. A Fleming. He must have stayed with someone in York while Will prepared his response, which sometimes entailed completing business before he could reply. But I have no idea where Wirthir stayed."

"Your son will not use him?"

Ridley shook his head. "My Matthew is an innocent. My fault for leaving him in the care of his mother so long. I should have sent him to the Scorbys sooner. But he will learn. His greed will teach him. For now Matthew believes that business can be successfully carried out in complete honesty. He never approved of Wirthir."

"Your son is in Calais?"

Ridley nodded. "He will travel back and forth between Calais and London, as I did."

"And how is it that you felt comfortable crossing the Channel?"

"John Goldbetter has all sorts of connections."

"Ah."

When the two men had finished their repast, Cecilia Ridley returned to show Owen up to a small private chamber. "This is my son's room when he is at home. I thought you would be comfortable here. I thank you for escorting Gilbert." Cecilia's face had some

more color now. "Please." She touched his arm. "Can you tell me anything else about Will's death?"

"It may have been robbery, though it was violent for that. A ring he wore on his right hand is missing. You knew him well. Could you describe the ring?"

"It was a signet. He used it for sealing his letters. Nothing unusual. Not like Gilbert's rings."

"You were good friends?"

Cecilia Ridley's hand fluttered to her neck. "Will was kind to me. He helped me set up the accounts. Found a steward when ours died of plague. Always came with presents for the children's birthdays."

"This question will seem unkind, but forgive me, I must ask it. Can you think of anyone who would want to kill Will Crounce?"

Cecilia shook her head. "He was a gentle man, Captain Archer. I cannot imagine anyone hating him so."

In the morning, Ridley showed Owen the ground floor, the stores of wine from Gascony, the stone-floored room in which all estate records were kept. Owen was most impressed by a curing room, where food was dried, smoked, or salted. A small hearth and a large stone sink with a drain made it cleverly convenient. Owen had never seen the like. Ridley was pleased. And Owen, seeing the man's genuine pleasure in his house, could not help but like him a little more.

All the same, Owen was grateful to leave Riddlethorpe. There was a tension between Ridley and his wife that made Owen feel in the way. And surely they had much to say to each other about the murder of their friend and business partner.

As Owen told Lucie over supper, "The oddest part was how Cecilia Ridley's face changed when her husband was present. It darkened, became stony. That, my love, is an unhappy marriage."

Lucie considered all he had told her. The elaborate house, Cecilia Ridley's simplicity, the subject of the argument between Crounce and Ridley the night of the murder, what Cecilia Ridley had said about Crounce. "It sounds to me as if Cecilia Ridley had far more affection for Will Crounce than she has for her husband."

Owen turned his good eye on her. "I had the same thought."

Lucie bit her lip, thinking. "There is nothing surprising in that,

Gilbert Ridley having lived away for most of their married life, but if it's so apparent to us, what must it be like for Ridley?"

"You mean, did he kill Crounce for stealing his wife's affection?"

Lucie started to nod, then sighed and shook her head. "No. It does not fit your description of Gilbert Ridley. His only passion is wealth. Not his wife."

"What have you learned about Jasper de Melton?"

"He has disappeared. His mother died, and Jasper vanished."

"Just as I feared. The boy is afraid that the murderers will come for him."

"Or they already have." Lucie hated saying it aloud.

Owen rubbed his scar.

Lucie took a deep breath. "The stranger who helped me on the road from Freythorpe has offered to search for the boy."