Candace Robb - A Spy For The Redeemer

‘Is the messenger yet here?’

‘The messenger departed for Wells the next morning,’ the monk said. ‘That would be two days past.’

Two days. Thoresby would not send a second message unless something further had gone wrong. Was it possible the aldermen or the guild had paid heed to Alice Baker’s complaint? Owen waved on the other men and the servants who carried their belongings. He would find his chamber after he had read Thoresby’s letter.

‘ Deus juva me ,’ he whispered as he read. The manor attacked and Lucie there in the midst of it. Praise God that Thoresby was sending Alfred and Gilbert. The destruction of the gatehouse worried Owen the most — the violence, the danger. Roger Moreton’s new steward had accompanied the party as protection.

‘Much good he did,’ Owen muttered.

‘What is it?’ Friar Hewald asked. Owen had not noticed him standing nearby.

‘We must depart at once for York. Find the infirmarian to change my bandage.’

‘You must rest the night. His Grace would not wish you to be deprived of sleep.’

‘I care nothing for His Grace’s wishes. Find the infirmarian!’

Melisende woke Lucie before dawn, plopping down beside her and using her for a support as she cleaned herself after her early morning hunt. The rhythmic movement lulled Lucie back into a drowse. Harold was no longer behind her closed eyes. A pity. His sun-warmed shoulders … Lucie opened her eyes, bemused by the vivid sensuousness of the memory. But in the dream she had feared him, feared what he was.

What if Tildy was right to distrust Harold? What if the Gisburnes had known of the parchment? Or suspected Douglas Sutton of murder? Had Harold been placed at Freythorpe to exact revenge? But Gisburne had recommended Harold to Roger Moreton, not Lucie.

She hoped Roger would return this morning. She was itching to wake Phillippa and try to learn more. But broken sleep would not help her aunt’s memory.

Lucie rose, irritating Melisende, who had just curled up tightly against her. Some gentle strokes and soft words calmed the cat. Melisende rose, stretched, sought out Phillippa’s legs and settled in for another nap.

Hoping to find comfort in Owen’s letters, Lucie picked up the box that held her correspondence and took it to a bench by a small window. She drew out his letters from Wales, opened the shutters just enough so that she might see but Phillippa would not have light in her eyes, then tucked her feet beneath her and unfolded the first, hoping to be calmed by imagining his voice.

The letters did not have the desired effect. By the third, Lucie had difficulty keeping her mind on the words. The rumours did not seem so unreasonable this morning. Lucie could well believe Owen might choose to fight for his former countrymen. In the end, what did a woman really know of her husband?

It had been more than four months since Owen’s departure. A few nights past Gwenllian had waked, crying for her father. Did Owen dream of them? Did he wonder about them? What did he think about as he rode with his men?

Lucie guessed she was not the only wife who paced the floor wondering about her husband. Cecily Gra had given birth to a child conceived before her husband left for Brussels. The child was born and died before her father could hold her in his arms. Other merchants’ wives suffered likewise. Some took lovers.

Which reminded Lucie of her dream. If they were to become lovers, would Harold be discreet? Could he be trusted? Pointless questions. In faith, tantalising as Harold was, Lucie did not burn for him as she had for Owen when they first lay together. She closed her eyes, thought of the scent of her husband. By the Rood she loved him, though she hated him for this long absence.

And if he did not return? Her stomach burned with the thought, as did her eyes. Heavenly Mother, do not let him forget me .

Enough of this. Lucie dressed, went down to the kitchen, where she found Kate already stirring the fire. She ate bread and cheese, drank enough ale to quench her thirst and headed for the apothecary in the cool early morning. Work warmed her, wearied her. Two customers and still no Jasper. Lucie could hear Gwenllian shrieking and giggling in the garden. Slipping out through the workroom, Lucie called to Kate, who came running, her cap flying away in the breeze.

‘Have you seen Jasper this morning?’

‘No, Mistress,’ Kate panted. ‘I thought he had gone early to the shop. He was not in the room when I went to the children.’

Could he have gone to Freythorpe? Would he do that? ‘Bring the children to me. I shall watch them while you go to the Merchets and Roger Moreton’s house. Ask if they have seen Jasper.’

‘But Master Moreton — ’

‘Is away, yes, but his housekeeper will be there. Go!’

‘Aye, Mistress.’

Calm yourself. Kate will return with no news and later Jasper will appear, explaining that he went to St Mary’s Abbey . And if he had gone to Freythorpe? Perhaps everyone’s suspicions were unfounded. But Lucie’s heart did not believe that.

Hugh and Gwenllian wanted to linger in the workroom, where great stone jars, baskets and bags of dried herbs, stones and more exotic items sat on low shelves along one wall. Lucie shooed them into the shop.

But Kate returned too soon, her face all frowns.

Dear God, what am I to do?

‘He has taken a horse from the Merchets’ stables, Mistress!’ Kate said. ‘The groom believed you had sent him off to Freythorpe.’

‘Holy Mother, protect him.’ Lucie picked up Hugh and held him close. What should she do? How could she help Jasper now?

After Kate departed with the children, Lucie paced the shop. Bess came to apologise for the part her groom had played in Jasper’s disappearance.

‘At another time I would think naught of the lad riding off by himself,’ Bess said. ‘But with all the brigands on the roads, and after such a savage attack upon Freythorpe, I shall not feel at peace until he returns.’

‘It is worse than that, Bess,’ Lucie pulled her into the workroom and told her all that was on her mind.

‘Dear Heaven. I shall send a servant with a message to the archbishop’s retainers. They must go after the lad.’

‘They are the archbishop’s men. I cannot order them to help me.’ Lucie hugged herself and fought hysteria.

‘Then send a message to the archbishop, for pity’s sake,’ Bess urged.

At least Bess agreed with her about the need to muster help. Lucie had just gathered her pen and parchment when Alice Baker entered the shop.

‘Mistress Wilton, I am in need of — ’

Lucie interrupted her. ‘There is an excellent apothecary in Stonegate, Mistress Baker.’

Alice Baker straightened, frowned. ‘I do not care for him.’

‘Perhaps you should try him again. For I shall no longer serve you.’

‘You cannot refuse me.’

Keeping her voice low, Lucie said slowly, enunciating each word, ‘Leave my shop.’

‘I shall take this up with the mayor.’

Lucie kept her eyes focused on the paper, refusing to say more. She had said nothing she might regret Alice repeating. So far.

‘Mistress Merchet, you have witnessed this,’ Alice said in a shrill voice.

When would the woman leave?

‘I have,’ said Bess. ‘And I approve. She should not give you the means to poison yourself.’

With a twitch of her skirts, Alice flounced out of the shop. The door closed loudly behind her.

At last Lucie glanced up.

Bess beamed at her. ‘Well done!’

Lucie could not smile. ‘I must go after him, Bess.’

‘And what would you do?’

‘He is but a boy.’