Candace Robb - A Spy For The Redeemer

‘It is early evening. You may do that later. Your man is without?’

Moreton nodded. ‘He awaits me.’

‘He will be given a seat close to the fire and fed well. Come now, my servant will take you to the guest chamber.’

When Moreton was out of the hall, Thoresby rose slowly — the return of the rain had made his joints ache — and made his way to Michaelo’s chamber.

A servant was there, making a fire. Michaelo lay in bed, on his stomach.

‘I do not need this fuss.’

‘I think that you do. I am pleased to see you obeyed,’ Thoresby said, withdrawing.

Moreton was already down in the hall when Thoresby returned, wearing a fustian tunic and leggings. He looked like a gardener.

‘I am grateful for the dry clothing, Your Grace.’ His teeth seemed to be clenching.

Thoresby nodded to the warmed wine on the table. A servant came forward and poured for both of them.

‘Come, sit and tell me what you learned.’

‘Harold Galfrey had no such surname when he worked for the Godwins, nor was he steward. He acted as sub-treasurer, a post he abused by acting a most helpful and agreeable courier but keeping much of the funds himself. His thefts were discovered, but he and Joseph, the groom, fled before he could be brought to justice. Joseph is the son of the cook at Freythorpe, a vengeful man who was sent away after causing trouble at both manors.’

It would be difficult to imagine a worse combination in the circumstances, save that one or both were murderers. ‘You received this from a reliable source?’

‘Mistress Godwin herself, Your Grace.’ Moreton produced a sealed letter. ‘She was good enough to dictate this to her secretary.’

Thoresby studied the seal. He would read it after he had sent Moreton on his way. No need to show the man how much light he needed and how far away he must hold a document these days. ‘It would appear that Mistress Wilton is the victim of your good intentions.’

Moreton dropped his eyes. ‘Yes, Your Grace.’

‘And Jasper de Melton, who took it upon himself to ride to the manor.’

He looked up, dismay staining his cheeks. ‘Alone?’

‘I have sent men after him, but yes, alone.’

Moreton buried his head in his hands. Thoresby drummed his fingers on the arms of his chair, thinking what more he might do. The High Sheriff must be told of this development.

Lucie and Phillippa had their heads together looking through the books when a knock came at the hall door. Lucie rose to answer it, waved Kate back into the kitchen.

Her heart dropped to see Alfred, wet and muddy from riding through the rain, stinking of horse sweat.

‘Mistress Wilton.’

‘Come in, Alfred. We have some wine at the table.’

‘I cannot, Mistress Wilton. I must hie to His Grace. But I wanted you to know that I had seen Jasper. He arrived at Freythorpe just after midday. He found nothing missing in the treasury. Harold Galfrey asked Gilbert and me to escort him home to you. I fear he used the courtesy to his own purpose.’ He paused for air.

‘Jasper is here?’

Alfred shook his head. ‘He and Gilbert turned back as soon as they were out of sight of the manor. Jasper wished to slip back to Tildy, help her prove Harold is the source of the troubles. I rode on for more men. I met four of our fellows on the road just beyond the city, bound for Freythorpe Hadden.’

‘You were good to come.’

‘Being so near the city when I met the men, I thought to inform you that Jasper will be safe and tell His Grace what has happened.’

Lucie’s stomach knotted. ‘What has Harold done?’

Alfred told her how the maze path had been dug up, the treasury had been searched, swords were missing and Joseph was about, with additional men.

‘Holy Mother of God,’ Phillippa whispered. ‘What is happening?’

‘What of Tildy?’ Lucie asked.

‘She was going to lock herself in the chapel with Daimon.’

‘You said swords, young man?’ Phillippa asked.

Alfred nodded. ‘Aye, three of Sir Robert’s collection of swords no longer hang in the hall.’

Lucie noticed with an inward groan that Dame Phillippa had a faraway look. ‘What is it, Aunt?’

‘Something.’ Phillippa shook her head. ‘Gone. Something about the swords.’

Lucie prayed that she was not falling back into her confusion. She needed her clear-headed, for she had to be able to leave Phillippa and go to Freythorpe. ‘Are you returning to the manor?’ she asked Alfred.

‘In the morning, aye. I am going now to speak to His Grace. It is raining hard. I would not venture back out on to the road tonight. Break my horse’s leg in a puddle. Now I must hasten. God be with you, Mistress Wilton. Do not worry.’

‘God watch over you, Alfred. I am grateful.’

Alfred left a trail of rainwater in his wake as he crossed the hall to Thoresby’s comfortable chair by the fire. The archbishop was about to send him away, steaming and stinking as he was, but a closer inspection of the man’s eyes made him ask instead, ‘What has happened at Freythorpe Hadden?’ As he listened, Thoresby shook his head in dismay. Worse and worse. And the lad not returned. ‘You will stay here the night and in the morning you will tell your tale to the High Sheriff before you ride back to Freythorpe.’

‘But Your Grace, if he is not there I shall never — ’

‘Fear not. Two of my men will be despatched this evening to inform the High Sheriff that the Archbishop of York commands his presence at his palace in the morning. I do not think John Chamont will keep you waiting.’

The rain came down heavily now. A puddle formed on the wood floor in the corner of the children’s room. Gwenllian demanded to know where Jasper was. Lucie left that for Kate to answer. Someone was knocking on the door. As Lucie hurried down the steps she made a mental note that the tiles in the corner of the roof must need repair. She did not want to follow her fears about who this might be.

When Roger gave her his news about Harold, she gasped, feeling the air pushed from her. ‘For what is God punishing me?’ she said in a voice she did not recognise. ‘What have I done?’

‘You?’ Roger rose, came to her side of the table and sat down beside her. ‘Sweet friend, it is my fault. My horrible error. I cannot believe I did such a thing to you.’

‘Tomorrow you will go with me to Freythorpe,’ Lucie said angrily. ‘We must confront Harold.’

‘Whatever you wish.’ His eyes were full of remorse.

‘Lucie, are you awake?’

Lucie pulled herself into a sitting position. ‘What is it, Aunt. Do you need something?’

‘I have remembered! Sweet Jesu, I have remembered. When Robert brought those swords, he also brought a reliquary. The hand of St Paula — you remember — for me, a widow.’

‘It is in the chapel, yes. He brought it back from the Holy Land.’ He had thought to give it to Clementhorpe Nunnery, where Lucie lived, but gave them a jewelled cup instead, saving the relic for Phillippa. The sisters had been most disappointed.

‘That is where I hid the parchment,’ Phillippa said. ‘In the reliquary. I knew none would open it. Robert forbade anyone to touch it.’

Lucie and Roger rode out through Micklegate Bar into the grey, humid morning. The rain had stopped, but the clouds hugged the land and the river. The air smelled of rotting fish. The usually loquacious Roger was quiet this morning. Lucie had not slept and her thoughts shifted nervously from worry to worry.

What would Owen have done differently? He would not have hired Harold Galfrey, that is certain. But he could not have prevented the raid on the manor. How would he have dealt with it? What had she done wrong? She had not asked enough questions. Oft-times she had chided Owen for his distrust of everyone and everything until sufficiently known. Never again. Roger Moreton felt he was the culprit, but Lucie shared the blame. With Tildy and Daimon locked in the chapel — pray God they were there — the reliquary was safe. Unless Harold and Joseph had already found the parchment. What if they were already gone?