Candace Robb - A Spy For The Redeemer

Roger glanced round, anxious about the scene he had created. ‘Perhaps we should continue walking.’

‘No. Not until you explain yourself.’

‘You are angry. Camden said you would be. He advised me to say nothing to you and promised to say nothing himself. But I wished you to know. I regret interfering. It was not right. I beg your forgiveness.’

‘What possessed you to defend me to my guild master? What could you possibly say? Are you an apothecary, have you acquired the knowledge to argue my innocence?’

‘I merely thought a word from a fellow merchant — ’

‘A word?’ Lucie could not believe his naïveté.

Roger hung his head. ‘He thought it as inappropriate as you do.’

‘Do you intend to do the same with the High Sheriff?’

‘I swear I shall hold my tongue.’

What must the guild master think about her relationship with Roger? Dear heaven, the man was a fool. But looking at his chagrin, Lucie reined in her anger. ‘You meant to be a good friend, I know. But you have made things even more difficult for me.’

‘I told you — he knows that you knew nothing about my going to see him.’

Lucie shook her head. She did not have the energy to argue. ‘You are certain you can hold your tongue at this meeting?’

‘I swear. I shall wait without if you prefer.’

‘That should not be necessary.’ Her anger was fading. Alice Baker had caused Lucie’s trouble with the guild, not Roger. ‘But I shall never forgive you if you break your vow.’

Looking relieved, Roger bowed, crooking his arm for her to grasp. ‘Castlegate flooded in the rains. It will be slippery.’

They said little to one another as they made their way down the muddy street to York Castle. Lucie wondered whether all castles were so crowded. Here were housed numerous officers of the King, including the Master of the Mint, the two Keepers of the Exchange, the two custodians of the King’s Merchant Seal in York, the Keeper of the Foss-fishpond, the Keeper of Galtres Forest and the High Sheriff, who was the sheriff of the county. It also housed a gaol. She always felt under scrutiny for some unknown wrong when she entered the bailey. She tried to ignore the bustle about her, attempting to order her thoughts. But she gave up as Roger steered her through a crowd watching a flogging, past armed guards surrounding several carts being unloaded at the Exchequer, through the smoke from the mint furnaces, to the sheriff’s hall, which had once belonged to the Templars. At the door, Lucie withdrew her hand from Roger’s arm and fussed with her veil. She wished to make a good impression on John Chamont, the High Sheriff, so that he would see she was not whining about a mere theft of baubles.

Chamont’s clerk listened to her brief account with a solemn face, which heartened her, then showed her in to the High Sheriff’s chamber.

The moment Lucie stepped inside, she knew she was wasting her time. John Chamont sat behind a large, exquisitely carved table on which a young boy and a puppy rolled about. An elegantly dressed woman, in silks and velvets and a gossamer veil, sat in the corner behind the High Sheriff, fussing with a servant about something. Mistress Chamont, Lucie guessed.

The clerk announced Lucie and Roger. Mistress Chamont hissed an order. The servant scooped up the boy in one arm, the puppy in the other, and hurried past the clerk and the visitors out of the room. Mistress Chamont then rose, nodded towards Lucie and Roger, and followed the departed servant with a slow, regal stride.

John Chamont frowned at the door, then at Lucie. ‘Mistress Wilton, Apothecary?’ He beckoned his clerk to his side. The clerk hurried over. After much whispering back and forth, he stepped back and Chamont looked up. ‘Ah.’ He nodded in Lucie’s direction. ‘Outlaws at Freythorpe Hadden.’ He expressed his sympathy. ‘His Grace the Archbishop has written to me of this, expressing his concern. You are fortunate in your friends.’

‘I came to tell you what I know. And the man who is assisting me with my steward’s responsibilities has provided information that may be of help.’ She handed him Harold’s letter, which he passed to the clerk behind him.

‘We shall let you know if the outlaws are apprehended,’ Chamont said with a benign smile.

The clerk bowed to the High Sheriff, then came round the table towards Lucie and Roger.

‘You do not wish to hear my report?’

‘My clerk will take your statement.’ The High Sheriff waved his clerk to the door, smoothed his elegant houppelande as he rose from his chair.

‘This is the extent of your duty?’ she burst out. ‘To receive letters and make empty assurances?’

‘Mistress Wilton, what more can I promise you? I do not think you need fear another attack. Such thieves rarely return.’

Roger stepped forward, his face red with anger. ‘If you will pardon me, sir, simple thieves rarely do such damage.’ Lucie had never heard such a chill in his voice.

Chamont did not notice. ‘Most unfortunate. But an accident, I am sure. The fire was meant to frighten you and did more damage than intended.’

‘Are such fires common?’ Lucie asked.

Chamont wagged his head. ‘Barns are often set alight to create confusion. The point is, your losses might have been far worse. Your maids were not raped, your steward will recover. Others have not been so fortunate.’

‘Fortunate,’ Lucie repeated in disbelief.

The High Sheriff suddenly focused on her, his eyes surprisingly intense and not at all cordial. ‘You make me wonder, Mistress Wilton. You pursue this as if you fear a particular enemy is behind the attack on Freythorpe Hadden. Is that so? Are you in trouble of some sort?’

His turnabout caught her unprepared, as she guessed it was meant to do. ‘I know of no enemies.’ Surely Alice Baker would not go to such lengths.

He looked for a moment as if he doubted her reply, but said, ‘Then there is nothing to fear, for one surely knows one’s enemies.’

Lucie had seen his sharpness; knew he was not that simple. It was merely a convenient assurance.

‘As for the goods.’ Chamont shook his head. ‘Silver and gold plate, jewels, costly silks, livestock, tapestries from all over the shire. How many men would I need to recover all those treasures? Of course, if I apprehend the outlaws — I am quite certain it is all the work of a small band of men — I may indeed discover their hoard. And if I do, you shall know at once. I promise you, Mistress Wilton.’

‘I am much consoled,’ Lucie said. She saw little point in courtesy. Polite or rude, it mattered not to Chamont.

As if agreeing, the High Sheriff bowed to her.

Lucie and Roger withdrew. As they stepped out into the castle yard, Roger suggested a walk down to St George’s Field, where the Foss and the Ouse converged.

Lucie, feeling oppressed both by the experience and the unpleasant steam from the mint furnaces, the press of the crowd round yet another flogging, welcomed a walk in the air. The rivers did not always smell pleasant downstream of the city, carrying the city waste and that of the tanners and butchers, but sometimes at their confluence the air was fresher. And the wide open sky would surely lift her spirits.

‘When such a man accepts the title of High Sheriff,’ Roger said, ‘he thinks only of the prestige, not the responsibility.’

‘I should like to be quiet, Roger,’ Lucie said.

‘Of course. But — you are not angry that I spoke?’

Lucie pressed his arm. ‘Not at all. Your anger may not have stirred him, but I appreciated it.’ As they passed the mills, and the field on which Owen trained the local men in archery, Lucie considered the High Sheriff’s question about enemies. Was it possible that Sir Robert had enemies about whom she knew nothing? Or Owen? Surely in Owen’s work for the archbishop he had angered people. But how was one to discover such an enemy? The river made her think of Magda Digby. The Riverwoman had agreed to go to Freythorpe Hadden. Now Lucie had another purpose for seeing her.