Candace Robb - A Spy For The Redeemer

Lucie prayed she had not been foolish to trust Harold. She did not need more trouble. ‘I shall be grateful to hear what Gisburne says. The Riverwoman is also concerned about Harold.’

Roger threw up his hands. ‘Why does everyone suddenly distrust him?’

‘I do not, Roger. I think Harold an excellent steward. Magda truly had all good things to say about what he has accomplished. But Gisburne’s servant Colby went to Freythorpe to see Harold the other day. He asked for him by name. He warned Harold about Nan’s son Joseph being close at hand. Would John Gisburne send that particular servant on such a mission?’

It was plain from his expression that Roger was puzzled. ‘God forgive me for saying so, but it is not like John to trust Colby in such a thing, or indeed to be so thoughtful as to warn someone about a matter like this. I shall find out all I can. It is the least I can do.’

Roger was such a good-natured, well-intentioned man. But Lucie was belatedly realising that his trusting nature could be a liability. It seemed an odd quality in a successful merchant.

John Thoresby shifted his position on the stone seat. Old bones should not perch on cold stone. They would be down in the cold earth soon enough. The archbishop and Jehannes, Archdeacon of York, sat in the garden of the archbishop’s palace near the minster. Thoresby had put his servants to work airing out the great house. He grew weary of playing guest at Jehannes’s house, but the roof repairs at Bishopthorpe continued. So he had compromised by opening his house in the city. The sun this morning was warm enough to heat Thoresby’s head even through his hat, but the stone seat held the chill of the night and the morning dew. He would be sorry for this perch later. But he had wished to speak with Jehannes away from Brother Michaelo and yet be nearby if his secretary had any questions. Michaelo was occupied in the palace supervising the servants.

Thoresby disagreed with Archdeacon Jehannes regarding what to do about Brother Michaelo’s sudden passion for penance. Jehannes believed it might be a sign of spiritual awakening and thus should be encouraged, or at least not discouraged. Thoresby had never had patience with the idea that self-inflicted beatings were the way to God. And with Michaelo it was particularly questionable.

‘He is much changed, Your Grace,’ Jehannes argued.

‘Not for the better. The journey to Kingston-upon-Hull to inquire about Galfrey will be good for Michaelo.’

‘Seeing to this house will surely be enough of a distraction. Another journey is cruel so soon after Michaelo’s return from Wales.’

‘He journeyed to Wales as a pilgrim. This will remind him he is a representative of the Archbishop of York and as such has duties that require him to have his wits about him.’

‘Such devotion should be encouraged in him, sire. He is a monk.’

‘Of course he is. But that never bothered him before.’

Thoresby saw Jehannes struggle to hide a smile. Good. The man had been distracted from his pious protest. Michaelo was off to the Godwin manor at Kingston-upon-Hull on the morrow and that was the end of it.

‘Why are you disturbed about this man Galfrey?’ Jehannes asked. ‘Mistress Wilton’s message mentioned that the manor was well guarded and that work had already begun on the repairs. The man may be unknown to you, but he sounds a worthy steward.’

‘I merely wish to know. And Michaelo is idle. Three days, I should think. Another might ride there in one, return the next, but he will take a leisurely pace. Mark me.’ Thoresby rose, his bones demanding a change. ‘Let us see how the work progresses.’

It was early afternoon when Thoresby could at last sit in the hall of the palace and reacquaint himself with the atmosphere of the house. It was not so pleasant as Bishopthorpe, but it had a grandeur and a sense of the past that he had always found to his liking. He heard Brother Michaelo explaining the value of careful work to a servant who had disappointed him. Perhaps opening up the palace had been sufficient to pull Michaelo from his foolishness. Now if Archer were here, life might be pleasant once more. He would arrive soon enough, surely. And it must be soon. The palace roof was in terrible condition. Someone must speed the work along at Bishopthorpe, then move the workmen here.

Thoresby was considering Michaelo’s ability to oversee that work when a servant announced Roger Moreton. The name was familiar. The face, however, was not — solid, flushed, handsome in a common sort of way. The man wore the livery of the Merchants’ Guild. Wealth here, new wealth. But who was he to Thoresby? The archbishop rose, offered his ring to kiss. The man dropped to his knees, kissed the ring. Clean fingernails, excellent workmanship on the felt hat. Good boots.

‘ Benedicte , Master Moreton. How can we help you?’

‘Your Grace. I should perhaps see Brother Michaelo. But he said last evening that it was Your Grace’s concern about Mistress Wilton’s property that led him to make inquiries about Harold Galfrey.’

Ah. So this was the neighbour with good intentions. ‘It is my concern, as godfather to Mistress Wilton’s and Captain Archer’s two children. Do you have more information than you were able to offer last evening?’

‘I have just come from John Gisburne’s house, Your Grace.’

John Gisburne. A wealthy merchant of questionable character who had yet to pledge any funds towards the completion of the minster. ‘Was Gisburne of any assistance to my inquiry? Do take a seat, my good man. I shall have a sore neck if I look up at you much longer.’

Roger Moreton glanced round, chose a comfortable chair, nodded to the hovering servant to place it closer. Thoresby approved. A man who knew his worth. Perhaps his judgement could be trusted in the choice of a steward.

‘See what refreshment might be had,’ Thoresby told the servant. ‘And ask Brother Michaelo to join us.’ The archbishop was curious about the man who had been such a friend to Mistress Wilton. A widower living next door to a handsome, wealthy woman of high esteem in the community, a woman wed to a man beneath her who was lingering far too long in Wales. Did Roger Moreton entertain hopes that Archer had indeed deserted his family as the rumours would have it? ‘You have proved a good friend to Mistress Wilton,’ Thoresby said.

Moreton frowned. ‘My Christian duty, Your Grace.’

‘The loan of your cart, your horse, your steward? That seems more than Christian duty from even the broadest of interpretations.’

A blush, but Moreton’s eyes did not flicker. He was not a timid man. ‘Mistress Wilton was a great help to me when my wife lay mortally ill.’ He was quiet a moment. ‘I have no need of my steward at present, Your Grace. But it is about him that I came.’

Brother Michaelo entered the room. Thoresby motioned him to a chair.

‘The servants will bring refreshment, Your Grace, Master Moreton. They — ’ Michaelo pursed his lips, shook his head slightly. ‘Forgive me. You do not want to hear of it.’

‘Not at present,’ Thoresby agreed. ‘Master Moreton comes to us from a conversation with Master Gisburne regarding Harold Galfrey.’

Michaelo tucked his hands up his sleeves and leaned back to listen. Thoresby inclined his head towards Moreton. ‘Now. If you would tell us what you learned about Galfrey.’

The merchant cleared his throat and turned his eyes to the floor. ‘I do believe that Master Gisburne imposed upon our friendship when he urged me to see Harold Galfrey. Harold is apparently Gisburne’s distant cousin and counted on this relationship when he arrived in York with no letters of introduction, those having been stolen.’

‘You said apparently his cousin,’ Thoresby noted. ‘One either is or is not.’