Candace Robb - A Spy For The Redeemer

Lucie did not look convinced. ‘I shall take a few servants and search the house.’

‘I shall accompany you.’

‘I would have you watch Phillippa. And — when you go on to Bishopthorpe, would you carry a letter to His Grace for me?’

Now here was a service he would gladly provide. ‘I shall write it for you if you wish.’

‘I can write.’ The cold voice of pride.

‘So, too, can His Grace. As most men who employ secretaries. But I have a fine hand. It is the only skill in which I excel.’

Lucie smiled. ‘Forgive me. I thought you doubted my ability. Shall we meet tomorrow morning?’

‘I shall have my ink and points at the ready.’ He was most curious what she might have to say to Archbishop Thoresby.

Michaelo, Phillippa and Tildy remained in the chapel, tending Daimon, while Lucie took a few servants to search the house. The hall door had held up well. Some silver plate had been taken from the hall, and a tapestry — the torn one, which Tildy had rolled up and tucked into the cabinet with the silver plate. Poor Phillippa. First the tear, now this. The thieves must have thought the roll might contain something of value — the tapestry itself might fetch a good price, but for the tear. Lucie went next to the treasury, a small, windowless room within the buttery, where the manor accounts and the money box were kept in a large chest. The door was ajar. She stood very still, listening for any tell-tale sounds. None came. They entered the buttery, then the treasury. The lock had been prised off the chest. The money box was gone, and the accounts, which were usually neatly stacked on a shelf above the chest, were in disarray, as if the thieves had hoped to discover more treasure among them. She would sort them out later. For now, she wished to see the rest of the house. What pricked at the back of her mind as she continued was that the treasury was a room only members of the household would know about. The servants, of course, knew of it because one must go through the buttery to reach the room. But guests of the household would have no knowledge of it, and strangers would have taken a while to find it. The thieves had been in the house a very short time. And the shuttered lantern — they had needed little light to find their way. Which meant they either had a colleague in the household, or one of them (or more) had once lived or worked here. Michaelo had asked whether she feared one of the thieves might yet be in the house. She did. But how might she find that person if he was part of the staff?

It was long after midnight when Harold’s search party returned. A horse and several lambs were missing, the fire in the gatehouse was under control, but the roof was gone — an assessment of the rest of the damage to the building must wait until daylight. They had found no strangers on the property, but as a precaution a night watch had been organised.

Lucie thanked the men and sent them off to the kitchen for ale.

Harold stayed. ‘You have shadows beneath your eyes,’ he said to Lucie. ‘What can I do to help hasten you to rest?’

‘Help Daimon into the hall. Tildy and I made up a pallet for him near the fire.’ As Harold turned away Lucie saw a rent in his leggings, a burned edge on his tunic. And he walked stiffly, as if weary to the bone. ‘Harold,’ she called softly. He turned. ‘God bless you for all you have done this night,’ she said. He smiled wearily, turned back to the task at hand. She watched him help Daimon to his feet. The poor young man was too dizzy to manage. Harold scooped him up and carried him to the pallet in the hall. The muscle-heavy Daimon seemed no burden to Harold.

‘He is strong,’ Tildy said at Lucie’s side.

Lucie already had other things on her mind. She told Tildy her suspicion, that the outlaws might have an accomplice in the household. ‘Keep your own counsel. Warn Daimon, too.’

‘You think they might be back?’

‘I do not know. Why would thieves take such risk for a horse, two lambs, some silver plate, a torn tapestry and a modest amount of money?’

‘They took the tapestry?’

‘It was near the plate.’

Tildy grinned. ‘Well, I should like to see their faces when they see the tear.’

Her sleeve and skirt stained with her love’s blood, her shoulders rounded with weariness — Tildy was a strong young woman to find humour in anything this night. Lucie appreciated it, but she could not smile, for she felt too keenly that they were still in danger. ‘I am tired. And so must you be. See to Daimon, then get some sleep. You must be both lady of the manor and steward tomorrow.’

‘You still mean to ride to York in the morning?’

‘I do. Would you rather return with me?’ It was Tildy’s to choose. Lucie would not force her to remain here if she was frightened.

‘No. I am needed here. I should see to Daimon, get him settled.’

Lucie watched the young woman hurry away. With her tender nursing the young steward would recover soon, Lucie thought. But how safe was Tildy in this house? Though Daimon had made sense when they asked him questions, he could not protect her. He said that when he lifted his bandaged head his stomach felt queer, which was worrisome but not surprising with a head injury. Besides that wound he had a swollen shoulder where his left arm had been pulled out of joint, a deep cut on his left palm and some slight burns. If Archbishop Thoresby granted her request, the two might be safe here. But what if he did not?

But at the moment she must get her aunt to bed. The poor woman sat with chin on chest, snoring softly. When Lucie waked her, Phillippa clutched her sleeve. ‘How is he? Would you like me to sit with him?’

‘Tildy is with Daimon now.’

Phillippa looked confused. ‘Adam the steward’s son? He is unwell?’

‘Who did you think I sat with, Aunt?’

‘Nicholas. You have not been up with him? Is no one with him?’

Michaelo glanced up from his prayers, gave Lucie a sympathetic look.

Phillippa had come to help Lucie nurse her first husband in his final illness. ‘Nicholas is long dead, Aunt. You are at Freythorpe Hadden. Daimon is your steward.’

‘Of course he is. I knew that,’ Phillippa snapped. She fussed with her crooked, wrinkled wimple.

‘Let us go to bed, Aunt. We have much to do tomorrow. Tildy will take care of Daimon tonight.’

‘She is a good girl, Tildy.’

Phillippa’s calm smile bothered Lucie more than her confusion. Her aunt had been in charge of this house for so many years — it was unnatural for her to smile so after the events of the evening.

As they crossed the hall, Tildy was leaning over Daimon’s pallet, spreading more covers over him.

‘I shall be down here with Dame Phillippa tonight, Tildy. I can hear if you call.’

Tildy nodded, but did not look up from her charge.

Lucie woke towards dawn, surprised that she had fallen asleep. Phillippa was not in her bed. Hurriedly dressing, Lucie ran out into the hall. Tildy dozed in a chair beside Daimon. Michaelo slept on a pallet just out of the light of the fire. Two menservants slept nearby. Harold must be on watch. Lucie checked the chapel. Empty. Where could her aunt be? When Lucie was small her aunt had told her to run into the maze if a stranger frightened her. They would lose themselves among the tall yews, and she would have time to run out the other way. She had spoken of the maze last night. Lucie hurried out into the pale dawn. The smell of damp ashes reminded her of the ruined gatehouse. She paused, cocking her ear. Slowly she walked towards the maze, still listening. As she drew near the entrance, she heard voices from within. Or beyond. She held her breath. As a child she used to stand here, just so, listening for her mother. She felt a chill. The voices grew louder.