Candace Robb - A Spy For The Redeemer

‘Baldwin’s household is leaving?’

‘For Carmarthen. He is Archdeacon of Carmarthen, you understand.’

‘I do.’

‘Can I give you a hand up, Captain?’ Ranulf spoke the last in a louder tone.

Owen appreciated the help. ‘God bless you for everything, Ranulf,’ he said when he was standing once more.

Ranulf handed Owen a sturdy cloth pouch, bent over, lifted the two stone maps and the face. He smiled as he handed Owen the latter. ‘Faith, that is my piece.’

‘I thought so. My wife will like to have it. God go with you, Ranulf.’

‘And with you, Captain. May He watch over you.’

May He allow me to find Father Simon still in the city, Owen thought.

It had been a quiet day in the household and the shop, but the peace was shattered when Lucie sent Jasper up to fetch Phillippa for dinner. In little time he came clattering down the steps, knocking Gwenllian over in his haste. ‘Dame Phillippa is gone! Her clothes, everything,’ he gasped.

Lucie hurried upstairs. The bedclothes were smoothed, Phillippa’s cloak was not on the hook, her walking stick was not propped beside it. Gwenllian began to wail in delayed indignation. Lucie looked round the room. Phillippa’s chest was at the foot of the bed. Perhaps she had tucked her cloak and walking stick in there. Whispering a prayer, Lucie lifted the lid. Phillippa’s second gown and her nightdress were neatly folded over her extra shoes, stockings, her brush and silvered glass. But the cloak and stick were missing.

Struggling to control her panic, Lucie slowly descended the steps. Kate was just disappearing into the kitchen with the children.

Jasper sat on the bottom step. Lucie gathered her skirts and joined him. ‘I shall go mad,’ she muttered. ‘I shall, well and truly. Where can she be?’

‘What can I do?’ Jasper asked.

Lucie hugged him. ‘You are my strength just by being here.’

Jasper patted her back awkwardly. ‘Dame Phillippa cannot have gone far. Kate says she checked on her in mid-afternoon. She was sleeping then.’

Lucie straightened up. ‘She wants to return to the manor, so she will be looking for transport. Roger Moreton’s house? She knows we travelled in his cart. Or the York Tavern.’ Had it been yesterday’s conversation in the garden that had prompted this?

‘Dame Phillippa was confused again this morning,’ Jasper said. ‘All know her state and no one will agree to take her anywhere. But why would she want to leave us?’

‘Because I unpacked her things when she would go home.’

‘Why does she want to go home?’

Lucie looked at the young man before her, smoothed back his hair. ‘Go search for her, Jasper, that is what you can do. Then, when we have her safely at home, I promise to tell you. I do not know why I did not already — you might be able to help me think how to help her.’

Jasper rose. ‘Master Moreton’s, then Mistress Merchet’s.’ He hurried out.

Lucie went into the kitchen to ask Kate what she remembered about Phillippa’s behaviour and to see whether Gwenllian had been hurt or just startled. Magda Digby, still wrapped in a long scarf and booted from her journey, was in the kitchen, Gwenllian on her lap, telling the child a tale of the Norsemen. She glanced up as Lucie entered, nodded, but did not falter in the tale. The little girl was leaning her head against Magda’s shoulder, her eyelids heavy. Kate was cutting up bread to soak in warm milk for the children. Hugh sat at her feet playing quietly with a handful of twigs.

‘She says Daimon is slow to mend,’ Kate told Lucie.

‘How is your sister?’

‘The Riverwoman says Tildy is happy now Alfred and Gilbert are there.’ Kate sighed at a knock on the hall door, wiping her hands on her apron.

‘Stay here, take care of the little ones,’ Lucie said. ‘I shall see who it is.’ Whoever it was, Lucie intended to send them on their way. She wanted to hear what Magda had to say.

But it was Roger Moreton on the doorstep, hatless and anxious. ‘Jasper has told me,’ he said breathlessly. ‘What might I do to help?’

Lucie thanked God for her good friends. ‘Jasper must be at the tavern. You might search with him. Do you think the guard at Micklegate Bar would remember whether Phillippa had passed through?’

‘We cannot know without asking,’ said Roger, already backing away. ‘I shall offer Master Jasper my services.’

‘God go with you, Roger,’ Lucie called after him as he bustled down the side garden and out on to Davygate, where he turned left, towards St Helen’s Square.

She found Magda sitting at the abandoned dinner table, unwrapping the long wool scarf from her head, neck, shoulders. At last she shook her head and patted her white braids. ‘Better now. The children are having their meal. Thou shouldst calm thyself and think of other matters. Thou hast a good pair searching the city.’

Lucie took brandywine and two mazers out of a cupboard. Magda sat at the head of the table. Lucie slipped on to the bench that ran down the side. She rubbed her hands. ‘Tell me how you found Daimon. And the household.’

Magda felt Lucie’s hands. ‘First pour thy brandywine and tell Magda why her old friend Dame Phillippa has wandered away from thy house.’

‘I found her — ’

‘Warm thyself with the brandywine,’ Magda ordered, pointing imperiously at the bottle.

When Lucie had complied, taking several fortifying sips, she told Magda about Phillippa’s conviction that she was needed at Freythorpe and about the parchment that seemed so much on her mind.

‘Douglas Sutton, aye. Phillippa mourned him, but the gods smiled on her when they took him so young.’

‘Did you know him?’

‘Magda did not need to. He was still in Phillippa’s eyes. They were not happy eyes.’

Someone shouted in the street. Lucie’s heart raced. She began to stand, felt Magda’s strong hand on her forearm.

‘If it is for thee, they will come to the door,’ she said.

Of course they would. But how could Lucie sit still?

‘What dost thou think will befall thy aunt? She is not a fool.’

‘She is lame, confused …’

‘Does she carry a money purse?’

‘No.’

‘Wear jewels? Fine rings?’

‘No.’

‘The thieves will ignore a poor crone. Magda knows.’ Her deep blue eyes smiled.

Jasper and Roger clattered into the house. Roger stood at a distance, while Jasper rushed to Lucie, kissed her forehead. He smelled of fresh air and sweat.

‘Bess had not seen her, nor the gatekeeper at Micklegate or Bootham, nor at the stables of masters Cobb or Wakefield.’

‘Now the churches,’ Magda said. ‘Begin with the minster.’

‘Why?’ Jasper asked.

‘Dost thou question the Riverwoman?’

‘Go, Jasper,’ Lucie said, her heart pounding. Pray God Magda was right. She pressed his hand.

He hugged her and loped across the room to Roger. ‘Come, Master Moreton. We have many churches to search!’

Poor Roger looked weary, but he nodded to Lucie and Magda, and followed Jasper out of the door.

‘Let us hope Magda has not sent them on a futile search.’

‘Do you doubt what you said?’ Lucie asked, fearing to have her hopes dashed.

‘No. Now Magda must tell thee about Freythorpe.’ She told Lucie about Daimon’s response to the physicks, Harold’s efficient work, Tildy’s gentle rule over the household.

Lucie found Daimon’s delicate humours distressing. Could she have forgotten that about him? For surely she had nursed him before. She pushed that aside, to think about later. ‘Alfred and Gilbert have arrived?’

Magda made a face. ‘Aye, two eager soldiers. Young Tildy is much relieved, but the borrowed steward wishes them gone.’