Candace Robb - The Cross Legged Knight

The undercroft door was gone — two wickets shoved into the opening were all that secured the remains from animals, theft, or the curious. Owen was considering where he might find a lantern so that he could ascertain whether a better closure was needed when someone joined him on his blind side. Remembering his earlier encounter with the bailiff, Owen turned slowly.

A short man with a shock of greasy hair stood beside him, hands clasped behind him, rocking slightly back and forth on his feet. ‘Good-day to you, Captain Archer.’

‘Good-day to you,’ Owen said, searching his memory for the man’s name.

‘Such a fine house. It would be a pity if Bishop William abandoned it.’

‘It would indeed.’

The man turned to Owen. ‘Corm’s the name. I live at the back of Edward Taylor’s messuage.’

Now Owen remembered him, once a regular at the York Tavern, now married to a woman who embarrassed him by fetching him home when he strayed, thus training him to stay put.

‘You must have said a prayer of thanks when the fire was contained,’ Owen said.

‘Aye. It was a night I’ll not soon forget. Nor will any of the women of this parish. Are they safe, Captain?’

Here again was the assumption that Cisotta’s death had not been accidental. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Because of the man I saw hurry away from the undercroft.’

Owen tried to hide his excitement. ‘Tell me about him.’

Corm stepped closer to Owen. ‘He rushed out from the undercroft door.’

‘Rushing from the fire?’

Corm shook his head. ‘Nay. I cannot be certain, of course, but I do not believe the fire had yet begun. I heard voices before he appeared, angry voices they sounded to me.’

‘You saw no fire behind him in the undercroft?’

‘There was light, but I did not think of fire then. Later, after I carted my sacks of grain back to the house, unloaded them and returned the cart to Taylor’s shed, that is when I raised the alarm about the fire.’

‘What did you see then?’

‘The door was ajar and smoke poured out, flames flickering behind.’

Owen backed up to the alleyway between the bishop’s house and Edward Taylor’s. ‘You went down this way?’

‘Nay, on the far side of Taylor’s house, by the shed.’

‘The shed to which Mistress Cisotta was taken?’

‘Aye, the very one.’

‘You heard voices raised in anger?’ Owen wondered about that, with all the noise of the city of an evening.

‘Aye. It was a quiet evening, until the fire. It was no accident, was it?’ Corm rocked back and forth.

‘Your tale makes me wonder. Have you told anyone else?’

‘My wife, that is all.’

‘I would ask you to keep it a secret for now, Corm.’

The man nodded solemnly.

‘Would you walk me through your movements that night?’

Four heavy sacks of grain the man had carried down the alley from the street and set them down at his door, one at a time, which was all he could manage. Long enough for a blaze to begin behind the departing man, but surely Corm would have noticed something amiss before all four bags had been stowed inside.

‘Were they men’s voices?’

‘I couldn’t say for sure, Captain, nor what they said.’

Upon turning on to Stonegate, Owen found the Fitzbaldric and Dale families gathered by the front gate of the goldsmith’s house, with two of Wykeham’s men standing off to one side. Except for the Dales’ two daughters, who were clipping late roses, arranging them in a nosegay, it was a grim gathering. The lovely Julia Dale, looking tired and dressed in more sombre garb than Owen ever recalled her wearing, was urging Adeline Fitzbaldric to accept an armload of wool cloth — fine wool, by the look of it. Adeline wore the same gown she had worn the previous evening, damp spots revealing attempts to clean it. Her eyes were narrowed in temper, though her tone in addressing Julia Dale was cordial. The servant May stood back a little, leaning against the garden wall. Her face was sallow, slack-skinned. Owen wondered why she did not wait on the garden bench nearby. But perhaps that was not considered appropriate behaviour for a Fitzbaldric maidservant.

‘Good-day to you,’ Owen said. ‘I hope you have had no further trouble that has driven you from the house.’

Fitzbaldric, still suffering his ill-fitting clothes, would not meet Owen’s eye, so it was up to Adeline to explain. ‘His Grace has offered us shelter and we have accepted. We cannot continue to impose on the Dales. They have their family to think of.’

As I do . Owen must speak with Thoresby about moving Poins. ‘His Grace is most generous,’ Owen said. He wondered whose idea it had been to take in the Fitzbaldrics. Thoresby seldom mixed with the citizens of the city.

‘It is better this way,’ said Adeline, tight-lipped.

Julia Dale had shifted her gaze to her daughters. Tension was thick in the air. The girls had completed their nosegay and now watched Owen, bobbing their heads and blushing when they found him looking at them. Whatever had transpired among the adults, the daughters thought all this exciting. They would regret the abrupt departure of their guests.

Owen would like to talk to Robert and Julia about the Fitzbaldrics, but it must wait. Perhaps he might find them alone and expansive on the morrow. For now, as the Fitzbaldrics and their maid had salvaged nothing from the bishop’s ruined house and had two of Wykeham’s men to carry what little they had, Owen did not consider it his duty to escort them to the palace.

He made his farewells and departed, feeling all eyes on his back as he headed for the minster gate. Once in the close, he slowed his steps and considered whether he had the time to say a few prayers in the minster. He did not want to become so caught up in the investigation that he forgot the tragedy of last night — that a woman had perished and a man had been horribly injured. More than Owen’s efforts to learn what had happened to them, they needed his prayers. Inside, in the chill dimness that echoed with the whispered prayers of his fellow supplicants, Owen knelt and prayed for Cisotta and her family, and for Poins. Before continuing to the palace he added a prayer for Lucie.

When Lady Pagnell and Emma fell to arguing once more about Matthew’s behaviour, Lucie judged that it was time she took her leave. Emma escorted her out to the street, promising to pay her for the sleep powder when next she escaped from the house. She did not wish to draw her mother’s attention to it by fetching her purse.

‘Is Matthew not an unpleasant man, just as I said?’

‘It is difficult to judge on so little evidence,’ Lucie said, her mind elsewhere. ‘Do you and your mother ever agree?’

Emma drew her hem away from a dog that had wandered into the courtyard, shooed it out to the street. ‘Did our arguments disturb you?’

‘No, it is not that. Only — you are so fortunate to have her here.’

‘You mean I should honour my mother while she walks among us. I know. Father hated our bickering.’ Blinking, Emma dropped her head, crossed herself.

‘I did not mean to chide you.’ Lucie understood how close to the surface her friend’s emotions were in this time of mourning, how fragile her composure. She had noticed the solemnity of all the household. ‘The boys were so quiet today,’ she said.

‘Do you think so?’ Emma glanced back at the house with a sympathetic expression. ‘They miss Father, too. He doted on them.’ She embraced Lucie, stepped back to study her. ‘You must have a care. Let Magda and Phillippa fuss over the servant while he is in your house. I shall pray that Owen finds another good Samaritan. You do not need the extra burden so soon after the loss of your baby.’