Candace Robb - A Spy For The Redeemer

Nor should he be, Tildy thought.

‘He thinks himself a fighting man,’ Nan continued. She did love to hear herself talk. ‘You have only to watch him walk.’

Tildy had noticed. ‘He knows that Alfred and Gilbert are trained fighting men,’ she said. ‘And he knows we know. We witnessed the difference the night of the raid. If Alfred and Gilbert had been here then, the thieves would have suffered as they deserve.’

‘And Daimon would not be lying abed, eh?’ Nan wagged her knife at Tildy. ‘No joy will come of your ambitions, my lady. Daimon’s ma thinks he can do better than you.’

Tildy knew that. Winifred, though praising Tildy to her face, had gone behind her back to complain about Tildy’s inexpert care to Mistress Wilton, and again to Magda. To both Winifred had claimed that Tildy was nursing Daimon only to win his heart. Nan was telling Tildy nothing new. ‘I am here as housekeeper while Dame Phillippa is away and I am in charge of Daimon’s care. I have no ambitions other than to do my best at both tasks.’ Tildy lifted her chin and flicked her skirt as she prepared to leave.

Nan snorted. ‘Shall we serve the best claret, my lady?’

She must always have the last word. Tildy could not be bothered to retort. She must rehearse her facts so that she left Alfred and Gilbert with no doubt she was right about Harold Galfrey. But how would she manage to catch them in private?

Magda glanced up from her ministrations as the young housekeeper entered the hall. She noted that Tildy’s step was lighter, her face more relaxed than earlier. Mayhap she had found a confidante — though it could not be the sharp-tongued Nan. Magda had failed in the role of Tildy’s confidante. Since the young woman’s outburst about Harold Galfrey being Daimon’s rival, she had withdrawn and said little to Magda except to ask directions about the young steward’s care.

But mayhap the kitchen had naught to do with Tildy’s mood. She plainly rejoiced at the arrival of the two whelps who would be warriors. That had been a tense welcome, Harold Galfrey clouding over as Tildy brightened. The borrowed steward had sniffed at the boisterous assurance of the archbishop’s men. Magda shared his doubts. She smelled much subtlety in the raid on the manor and worried that the lads were too inexperienced to pursue anything but the obvious.

What would they make of the man who had come round asking for Harold Galfrey this morning? Magda had recognised him — Colby, he was called. He worked for John Gisburne. An odd choice for the would-be mayor of York. Colby was trouble, always had been. Harold said Colby had been sent by Gisburne to warn him that Joseph, Cook’s son, had been seen in York. He would cause trouble at Freythorpe if he could.

Mayhap he had already. But Magda thought it best to consider other possibilities. Would Alfred and Gilbert?

As soon as the shop was empty, Lucie returned to the storeroom to see whether Jasper had calmed. He was not there. What had Alice Baker whispered to him? Lucie opened the door to the garden, thinking to search for the lad, but the rain changed her mind. A soaking would not make it easy to continue the cloth envelopes. And how certain was she to find him for all that? She resumed her work, listening for any sounds in the shop. But it was a creak on the old stairs up to the solar that caught her attention. Kate slept up there, but she would not be there now. Suddenly Crowder was rubbing against her skirt. Lucie had a momentary suspicion — Kate and Jasper? Sweet heaven, she was thinking like Jasper himself, immediately pairing people off. There was also an alcove at the top of the steps, outside the solar, in which an old bench had provided a quiet place for Lucie to nurse her babies during busy times in the shop. Lucie put aside her work, gathered her skirts and crept up the steps, but as she reached halfway she realised anyone up there was unlikely to hear her approach. Crowder dashed ahead of her. A hard rain drummed on the new slate roof and the wind rattled the shutters.

And there Jasper knelt, in front of the bench in the alcove, his elbows on the bench, his head bent in prayer.

The sisters of Clementhorpe had taught Lucie that it was a sacrilege to interrupt another’s devotions. But what could Alice Baker have said to lead him up here to pray?

Still Lucie hesitated at the top of the steps, debating what to do.

Crowder solved the problem by butting his head against Jasper’s thigh. The boy’s immediate response was to lower his hands and reward the ginger tabby with a good rubbing.

‘Jasper?’

He turned, saw Lucie, slid back to sit on the floor. The hunch of his shoulders, lowering of his head, told Lucie his earlier good mood was gone — but so too the heat with which he had left the shop.

‘Were you praying for Alice Baker’s soul?’ Lucie tried.

He shook his head. Crowder settled on Jasper’s lap.

‘Were you praying for your soul?’ Lucie asked.

Another shake. One hand rose to scratch the tabby beneath his chin.

‘You would like me to leave you alone.’

At last a nod. Something about his posture on the floor, embracing the cat, reminded Lucie of what she had felt like at his age. She had been desperate for privacy. Life in a convent, she had thought. But perhaps at a certain age, solitude was simply necessary. She withdrew.

Rokelyn sent for Owen’s men late in the day. He stood before them, hands behind his back, chin thrust forward, anger-hardened eyes moving slowly from man to man. Tom noticed a vein pulsing along the side of the archdeacon’s hairless head.

‘Who brought ale to the prisoner while you guarded?’ Rokelyn demanded of Edmund and Jared.

The two exchanged a look. Edmund dropped his head.

‘Glynis,’ Jared said. ‘Piers’s mistress. She put a sleeping draught in it.’

‘And Captain Siencyn spoke to two of you yesterday, did he not?’ The eyes swept the four, rested on Tom.

What could Tom do but admit it? ‘Aye, Father.’

The archdeacon grunted. ‘Captain Archer is too clever for his own good. But he has underestimated me.’

‘What has the captain to do with it?’ Jared asked. For once, Tom admired his boldness.

‘Father Simon tells me Glynis and the captain met in Porth Clais. You were there.’ Rokelyn nodded at Jared.

‘She told us where to find Captain Siencyn, that is all.’

‘Come now. You had already met Siencyn.’

‘I did not know where he lived,’ Jared protested.

‘Why would she poison them?’ Sam sputtered.

‘Captain Archer would not help Piers escape,’ Edmund said, finding his voice at last. ‘Not when he was working for you.’

‘No?’ The single syllable curled upwards. ‘What if he believed if he did so Siencyn would sail?’

Tom had heard enough. ‘The captain would not betray you unless he thought someone would suffer for your mistake.’

Edmund elbowed Tom as amusement lit Rokelyn’s face.

‘So if he believed I was wrong …’

‘And if Piers had been in danger,’ Tom said weakly.

From the doorway came a most welcome voice: ‘Bless you, Tom, for thinking so well of me.’

It was Captain Archer. His right arm was bound to his side and he looked haggard. But he was back, praise God. Tom pulled a chair towards him.

‘You are wounded?’ Rokelyn came forward to see Owen. ‘A dog did all that? Where is your other man?’

‘Sitting outside the door. He cannot walk. We were attacked. We found refuge in a cottage and only now felt strong enough to continue. What is ado?’

‘Piers the Mariner has slipped away,’ Rokelyn said. ‘You were not injured helping him, were you?’