Candace Robb - The Cross Legged Knight

‘She is not to be disturbed.’ Emma dropped her attention to the beads, wrapping them round her wrist.

Matthew bowed once more to her bent head and withdrew to the hall.

‘He is a worm,’ Emma said.

‘He works hard for Lady Pagnell. And your father never had complaint.’

‘The worm turned upon Father’s death — he plots to gain by Mother’s widowhood, I am certain of it.’

‘What has he done?’

‘Last night he argued with Mother, insisting that she take the boys away to the countryside, save them from the gossip.’

‘Some would consider that good counsel.’

Emma leaned closer, grasping Lucie’s hand as if to ensure her attention. ‘He spoke as if he were her equal, Lucie. As if Mother were bound to heed his words.’

Lucie could see that Emma expected her now to comprehend the nature of Matthew’s transgression. Perhaps the steward had overstepped his position, but she did not see anything improper in his suggestion. ‘The boys are yet here, so Lady Pagnell must have stood her ground.’

‘Not without some effort to appease him with gentle words. But yes, she did stand firm. “A Pagnell never runs away,” that is what she told him, and she would not be moved by anything further that he said.’

‘Then what is your worry?’

Emma let go of Lucie’s hand as she rose and walked a few steps away from the bench, hugging herself. ‘I do not know why I fret so about her. She never has a civil word for me.’

Nor did Emma for her mother. But Lucie kept her counsel. ‘I came on a trifling errand,’ she said. ‘Seeing your distress, I am almost embarrassed to bring it up. But perhaps it will distract you.’

Emma sat down on the bench once more. ‘Something to do with the garden?’

‘No, the matter is a pair of fine gloves.’

‘Do you require a good glover?’

‘I hope to find a specific one. Aunt Phillippa had a pair of my mother’s gloves in her chest. I should love to have a pair like them, and I thought you might recognize the glover’s mark or the workmanship.’ Lucie drew the gloves from her scrip.

‘How beautiful they are,’ Emma breathed, holding them in her outstretched hands as if they were made of the most delicate lace. ‘Do they not fit you?’

‘Not as I would like.’

‘What a pity. To wear them would be like slipping your hands in hers, I’d think.’

Her words made Lucie ashamed of her deception. But she could not undo it now. ‘I don’t want to risk damaging them. I have so little that was hers.’

Now Emma began to examine them, turning up the edges, holding the underside to the light searching for a mark.

‘I recall some cut-work like this at the wrists, but I do not think the gloves had been made by a York glover. And the mark is not familiar. Might your mother have brought them from Normandy?’

If they had truly been her mother’s that was possible, indeed. But the suggestion would not help Lucie. ‘What about the cut-work?’ she asked.

Emma ran her fingers beneath the scalloped wrists, each outward curve containing a small cut-out diamond shape. ‘Your mother took care not to pull the gloves on by the wrist, or this delicate edge would have stretched and eventually torn. Ah — that is it. I have seen gloves such as these that were not so well cared for.’

‘Who wore them?’

Emma shook her head. ‘I cannot remember. But do not despair, it may come to me.’

‘Might Lady Pagnell recognize them?’

‘She is not to be disturbed this afternoon. The trouble with John and Ivo has kept her in bed with a dizziness.’ Emma looked again at the glover’s mark. ‘I’ll describe the gloves and the mark to Mother when she wakes. If we remember anything, we’ll let you know.’

It must be enough for now. Lucie was making her excuses when she remembered what Eudo had said about who sold the type of hide for gloves like these. She had not considered how that would work with her lie, but perhaps it need not. ‘If I find a glover who might make a pair like this, where would I find such a hide? Might Peter find one for me?’

‘I am certain he could, though I confess I buy hides elsewhere if I see ones I like. It is not a great part of his trade, and he does not always fight for the best. But you must not tell him that I said so!’ She handed Lucie the gloves. ‘I am cheered to see you thinking of such a gift for yourself.’

Lucie needed to escape before she admitted her deception. It felt wrong to lie to her good friend. But in so doing she had been comforted — it was plain the gloves meant nothing to Emma. With Jasper as her excuse, Lucie soon departed.

The breeze strengthened around the soaring bulk of St Crux Church. Lucie held on to her veil with one hand to keep it from blinding her as it caught the wind, and with the other hand she lifted her skirts to keep them from tripping her. She had so dreaded a look of recognition on Emma’s face, or worse, a withdrawal, a lie. Over the past few years Emma’s friendship had become dear to Lucie. She had never had a close friend of her own age and station — Bess Merchet played more the role of an adviser than a confidante, and she did not understand the tensions Lucie experienced as a knight’s daughter married first to an apothecary, then a steward and captain of the archbishop’s retainers. Sometimes Lucie felt neither here nor there, and so some folk treated her. Emma knew all this without Lucie needing to explain. They were easy with one another. Had Emma turned out to be hiding something from Lucie … She could not complete the thought, for it brought the mirror up to her own behaviour in lying to Emma.

The door to St Crux stood open and the scent of incense and candle wax beckoned Lucie into its dim, echoing nave. She had spent much time in churches recently, praying for her children, both living and dead. Several people stood near the door, talking in low voices. A baby played noisily with a rattle while his nurse or mother knelt with her paternoster beads. Lucie headed towards the altar of the Virgin Mary, but saw that someone already knelt on the prie-dieu before it. She knelt on the stones nearby and, bowing her head, prayed for her children, Cisotta, the Ferribys, Phillippa, Poins. She prayed that Emma would forgive her deception, would understand. The lie had served its purpose, but eventually Emma would know of her friend’s falseness. Lucie should have taken more time to plan what she meant to say. And already she regretted having left so soon, without seeing Lady Pagnell.

But Lucie’s place was at home this afternoon. Alisoun was with Gwenllian and Hugh for the first time, and Kate might be caught up in easing Phillippa’s confusion.

Having thought of that, Lucie grew anxious about the children. Her quickest way to St Helen’s Square from St Crux was through the Shambles, the street in which the butchers lived and worked. She hurried from the church and crossed the yard to the Shambles, only to find a crowd all but blocking the street. ‘What has happened?’ she asked a tall man whose eyes seemed caught by something far ahead.

‘Harry Flesher caught a lad thieving, held him up off the ground by his collar and belt, and a customer said Harry was a cruel man, there was no cause for him to lay hands on the lad. They’re calling each other such names!’ He chuckled and rose on the balls of his feet.

Lucie gathered her skirts and pushed her way past several people. As she moved deeper into the crowd she was jostled and pricked by packages and pins. She paused for a moment, lifting her chin in search of some air, then plunged ahead.

‘A dog took the meat!’ a woman near her shouted.

The pitch of the crowd grew louder, the pushing and shoving more brutal. Something tugged at Lucie’s girdle. She reached for it, thinking it had caught on something, but drew her hand back in pain. Blood bloomed along a gash on the back of her hand, and she felt the girdle slipping away, scrip and all. She turned and heard a woman a few people away shout as she was pushed aside. For a moment, as folk shifted in the thief’s wake, Lucie caught sight of cropped blond hair and a rusty brown cap.