Candace Robb - The Cross Legged Knight

‘My servants are trustworthy, Captain.’

‘A passing comment is all someone seeking the information might need,’ said Owen. ‘May?’

The maidservant straightened and moved her gaze to Owen, with a reluctance, it seemed to him. ‘Sir?’

‘Do you recall mentioning the dinner to anyone? Perhaps proud that your master and mistress were being so honoured?’

She was facing the windows, the sun in her eyes. She lifted a hand to shield them. ‘Oh no, no, I know no one here, nor would I boast among fellow servants.’ She took a breath. ‘I am most grateful for what you did, carrying me from the fire,’ she added softly.

‘Well spoken, May,’ said Adeline. ‘Is there anything more, Captain?’

‘For May, yes. How did you come to be trapped up in the solar?’

‘I was asleep. I knew Poins was in the house, so I thought I might lie down …’ Her voice trailed off as she dabbed her eyes with her apron.

‘You’d cut yourself that evening,’ Owen said. ‘There was blood on your face. Yet I see no evidence of it now.’

May had moved to a better angle but still needed to shield her eyes. ‘I have many scratches on my arms and legs — the blood must have come from them.’

‘I remember the blood, Captain,’ Adeline said, glancing back at her maid. ‘Surely there are stains on your gown, May?’

‘There were many stains, most of water and ash, Mistress. I scrubbed them out as best I could that night with Bolton’s help.’

‘May is a good laundress,’ said Adeline, but her expression was one of puzzlement.

Owen wondered whether it would be useful to speak with Adeline privately about the maid. Something bothered him, but it might merely be the unusual resilience of Adeline that unsettled him. ‘Did Poins have a visitor that evening?’

May shook her head.

‘Had he been working in the undercroft?’

‘No. He was in the hall when I went above.’

‘Is he fond of women?’

The maid blushed. ‘I would not know.’

‘Are you friends with Poins?’

‘I tolerate nothing improper, Captain,’ Adeline said, her voice sharp.

‘How is Poins today, May?’ Owen asked, trying another path.

The maid looked down at her hands. ‘I have not seen him since that night,’ she said in a quiet voice.

‘What is this? When he is here at the palace? Are you not concerned for him?’

Her head came up. ‘I am!’ Her face was flushed.

‘Captain’ — Adeline rose abruptly — ‘that is enough.’

‘Patience, Adeline,’ Fitzbaldric urged, reaching for her elbow.

Adeline bristled. ‘May has been busy helping me settle here. I thought it best that she not upset herself with Poins’s condition.’

‘And you, have you sat with him, Mistress Fitzbaldric?’ Owen asked. She was already angry, so he saw no benefit in mincing.

Gracefully resuming her seat beside her husband, Adeline shook her head, dropped her eyes to her folded hands. ‘God help me, but I cannot bear to see his suffering.’

‘Nor should you need to,’ Fitzbaldric said, putting a protective hand over hers.

Adeline smiled up at her husband, tears shimmering in her eyes.

Owen doubted that the woman required the protection Fitzbaldric seemed so anxious to give her.

Despite Eudo’s frequent rebellion against his guild’s rules, his fellow tawyers had arranged for the mourners to dine in the hall of an alewife, with guild dues paying for the small feast. Cisotta’s sister, Eudo’s cousin, and their spouses, the master of the tawyers’ guild and several members, as well as some of Eudo’s neighbours accompanied the family to the house on Girdlergate. Lucie offered to take the children home, but at their looks of disappointment their aunt insisted they partake in the feast. ‘They deserve a reward for tolerating Father John’s unpleasant voice,’ she said, ‘and what they have been eating for the past few days I do not care to think about.’

‘A neighbour has been seeing to such things,’ Lucie said.

‘It is not for neighbours but for family to see to such things,’ the cousin said.

Lucie had hoped to resume her conversation with Anna about the gloves Cisotta had hidden in the dresser. The information might be of use to Owen. She considered departing and returning later, but in the end she remained, honouring Cisotta’s memory. Anna stayed close to her, but it was not the place in which to talk of such matters, with too many curious ears.

At first the girl seemed reluctant to partake in the feast, but her brothers’ cries of delight soon stimulated her appetite. Lucie imagined the children had never had eel, pigeon, and venison in a single week much less a single sitting. By the end of the meal Henry and Ned had fallen asleep with their heads on their aunt’s lap and Anna with her head on Lucie’s.

It was not until the family returned home that Lucie was able to talk to Anna. Eudo settled into a chair near the fire circle, with little Will on his lap, and picked up a tankard of ale to resume the drinking he’d begun at the meal.

Lucie and Anna sat well away from him, talking about the relatives and their promises of help. Anna expressed concern that help would translate to interfering, but Lucie reminded the already exhausted child that it was difficult even for an adult to run a household. Gradually Lucie led the conversation back to the gloves and the hides.

‘I told you all I knew of it, Mistress Wilton. Ma didn’t say any more.’

‘After your mother spoke with the stranger in the kitchen yard, how did she behave?’

Anna shrugged. ‘She was glad I had put away the things we’d brought from the market.’

‘Did she seem excited? Upset?’

‘She just went on with chores.’

‘When she went out the evening of the fire, what did she take with her?’

‘Her basket.’

‘Did you see what she put into it?’

Anna shook her head. ‘Little Will was crying and Pa was shouting from the shop to keep him quiet because he had a customer.’ She took a deep breath, blotted her eyes with her apron. ‘It would help if I could remember what she put in the basket, wouldn’t it?’

She was a remarkable child, both clever and courageous.

‘It might.’

Anna faced the dresser, ran her hands slowly along the row of jars and bottles. ‘I remember her picking up some cloths, then putting them back.’ She lingered over a jar, moved on, backtracked, then at last dropped her hand to her side. ‘I was too busy with little Will.’ Her voice broke.

Lucie crouched down and gathered Anna in her arms. ‘Forgive me for making you try to remember.’

The girl clung to Lucie, her reserve gone.

Eudo put down his tankard and carried Will, now sleeping, to the corner bed, then came over to them. ‘What is this? Why did you make her cry?’

‘It is good for her, Eudo. She has had to be strong for the boys. Just for now, she can be a child, weep for her mother.’

He held Lucie’s eyes for a moment, then turned away as his face began to dissolve in his own grief. ‘Aye, well, don’t you leave her like that. See that she’s calmed before you go.’

‘I shall.’

Eudo crossed the room, reaching up to punch one of the ceiling beams as he passed beneath it, then the lintel before stepping out into the kitchen yard.

Anna had quieted. Lucie lifted her chin. ‘Would you mind if I took the gloves away for a few days? I should like Captain Archer to see them.’

The girl wiped her eyes with her sleeves. ‘Was Ma doing wrong? Is that why she died?’

‘We have no cause to think she did wrong.’

Anna glanced over at her father. ‘Should we tell Pa about the gloves?’ He had returned to the doorway, leaning against it as he talked to the guard.