Candace Robb - The Cross Legged Knight

Fitzbaldric shook his head. ‘They are not familiar.’ He felt the scalloped edge, his gesture hesitant, but whether it was because he recognized the gloves or because he realized what had stained them, Owen could not judge. ‘They are well made,’ he said, ‘the workmanship and the materials.’ He glanced up at Owen with a wary look. ‘First you showed the belt, now these. What is the significance of these items, Captain? What has stained them? Is it blood?’

‘Aye, it is. The thief who stole these has been murdered, left to bleed to death in a ditch near the King’s Fishpond.’

‘Another murder?’ Fitzbaldric searched for a place to set his gaze. He did not seem to wish to look on Owen or on the gloves. ‘I never dreamed when we decided to move to York that violence was such a common occurrence. Is that why the bailiff was here?’

‘He protests His Grace’s authority in all of this.’

‘Do you think this latest incident has aught to do with the other…?’ He stopped as Adeline joined them.

Owen rose and greeted her.

‘Captain.’ She nodded, then resting a hand on her husband’s shoulder, asked, ‘The other what, Godwin?’

Fitzbaldric patted her hand and rose. ‘The captain was admiring Bishop William’s chessboard and pieces. We shall not be long — I am providing him with a list of what I’d stored in the undercroft. I’ll come for you in the garden.’

For once May did not accompany her mistress. It was an opportunity to discuss the maidservant that Owen was loath to pass up. ‘In truth, your husband has told me all I need to know. Might I have a private word with you now, Mistress Fitzbaldric?’ He anticipated Fitzbaldric’s objection — had he not just prevented Hempe from further questioning Lucie? ‘Forgive me, but it would be most helpful if I might speak with your wife alone. They have finished the scaffolding at the bishop’s house. You may enter now with care.’

Adeline had noticed the gloves. Her eyes just passed over them, but a hand to her throat suggested to Owen that she recognized them.

‘What can my wife have to say that cannot be said in my presence?’ Fitzbaldric demanded.

Before Owen replied, Adeline put a hand on her husband’s forearm and said, ‘Perhaps you might go with Bolton to the house, see what you can retrieve.’ She looked at Owen. ‘We may be able to salvage some of the clothes and furniture on the upper floors.’

‘Bolton is sitting with Poins,’ Fitzbaldric grumbled. ‘The midwife was called away. I thought we were to play chess.’

‘Not at the moment, husband. You might at least go and see the condition of the upper storeys.’

‘Aye, I will. I spoke to a guild member who might have a property for us to rent. It would be good to see how much we must fetch from Hull to furnish another house.’ He bowed to both of them and departed.

Adeline took the seat Fitzbaldric had vacated and, leaning towards the chess table, nodded to the gloves where they lay at the edge. ‘Do those have to do with your investigation, Captain?’

‘They might. You have seen these before, I think.’

She tilted her head, shook it. ‘I once owned a pair of gloves much like these, so for a moment I thought they were familiar.’ She touched two of the jet beads. ‘But it was many years ago.’

‘What did you do with them?’

‘I cannot recall. I did not care for them. Perhaps I gave them away.’

‘If you would try to remember, Mistress Fitzbaldric.’

‘It is important? Mine had been made to my order by a glover in Beverley. What could this have to do with the death of that woman? Such a woman could hardly afford such clothing.’

Owen found Adeline’s attitude a puzzle, both disarmingly open and defensive. ‘Might there be other pairs like the ones you once had?’

‘Of course. Once a glover has a pattern, he will use it again. Why would he not? Though as they were costly, I cannot think there would be many such pairs.’

‘Where did you last see yours?’

‘In our house near Hull.’ Her manner had changed again. There was a vagueness in her eyes, as if she were remembering something and by her voice it was troubling. ‘A long while ago.’

‘You remember the gloves very well. How is it that you do not recall what you did with them?’

‘Do you enjoy pestering people, Captain Archer?’

‘No. It is the part of an investigation that I dislike most.’

Adeline touched the gloves again, gently, with her fingertips. ‘Are these bloodstains?’

‘They are.’

She pulled back her hand, made a fist. ‘I believe I added them to some clothes I was giving the priest, for the poor. My children’s clothes.’ She turned her head away, but Owen could hear the emotion in her voice, recognized the rigid posture of someone hiding pain. ‘I had quarrelled with my daughter about the gloves a few days before the pestilence took her. She went so quickly. I never had the chance — ’ She took a deep breath. ‘I could not bear to look at them again.’

Owen bowed his head and said nothing for a long while.

Adeline broke the silence, asking a servant for some watered wine. ‘And for you?’ she asked Owen, the servant waiting.

‘Some ale would suit me.’ When the servant withdrew, Owen said, ‘I am sorry for your loss, Mistress Fitzbaldric, and sorry to make you remember it.’

‘It is a wound that never heals, Captain. I am called indulgent for mourning my children so long, indulgent in my pain.’

The servant returned and they sat in silence for a little while.

But Owen feared Fitzbaldric would return before he had finished questioning Adeline, so once again he interrupted her peace. ‘Did you take the clothes to the priest, or did you give them to someone to take for you?’

‘That I truly cannot recall, Captain.’ Adeline picked up a pawn, turned it round in her fingers, set it down, then looked Owen in the eye. ‘Are you thinking that someone in my household might have kept them?’

‘It is possible, is it not? What of your husband? Might he have kept them, thinking you might regret your action, or perhaps because for him they conjured up good memories?’

She had grown angry as he spoke. ‘Listen to yourself. You are weaving a tale to make Godwin appear guilty. What does my husband have to do with the gloves?’

‘I seek the truth, Mistress Fitzbaldric, not a scapegoat.’

‘No?’ She held herself so taut the pulse was visible in her long neck. ‘Where did you find those gloves? Whose blood is on them?’ Her voice grew tenser with each question. ‘You are trying to blame my husband for the fire.’ Owen’s silence brought blotches of colour to her neck. ‘Dear God.’ She rose. ‘Mother in Heaven, you cannot believe … Whose gloves were those?’

‘You said “were”. And you are right. They were in Cisotta’s house.’

‘And you believe they are the ones I discarded? Then how did she get them?’

‘I hoped you might know.’

‘I … I cannot imagine.’

At last Owen saw honest fear in Adeline’s eyes.

‘How long has May been in your household, Mistress Fitzbaldric?’

‘Since we married. Seventeen years.’

‘And before that?’

‘She was in my mother’s household, the daughter of the gardener. Mother had — ’ She stopped herself, shaking her head, sitting down again to sip at her wine.

‘May had blood on her face the night of the fire, yet she has no wounds on her face. What do you make of that?’

‘Oh, dear God, I do not know what to make of it, Captain, any of it. She is a good woman, though of late she has been clumsy and distracted.’

‘What of her relationship with Poins?’

Adeline glanced up at him, all subterfuge gone. ‘Have you looked at them? No, of course not, he is in bandages so thick you cannot see his youth, his beauty. Yes, I have gone to see him since yesterday. Poor man.’ She closed her eyes. ‘I had not understood the extent of his burns.’