Candace Robb - The Riddle Of St Leonard's

Bess studied the man’s eyes. He believed what he said, though she doubted he knew her uncle had been attacked. ‘Why corrodians?’

‘Living too long.’ The blunt reply made Cooper uneasy. ‘What I say is not how I feel, Mistress Merchet. You understand that?’

‘I do. But I pray you, explain yourself.’

‘The corrodians pay a sum, reckoned on some assumptions: they are elderly, they have decided to retire from active life, and so they will likely soon sicken and die. The sum is set high, hoping that they die before it is used up in supporting them. Else why take them in? But some folk are too long-lived.’

Bess felt a queer chill down her spine. Certainly her Uncle Julian had outlived his fee. As no doubt had Laurence and Matilda. ‘Where did you hear this?’

‘It is whispered all about town.’

‘God bless you for telling me what you have heard, John.’

‘God go with you.’ John moved away from the wall. ‘I’ll be on my way, then. Forgive me if I’ve worried you. Julian Taverner is a clever man. More so than his friend. You’ve naught to worry about with him.’

Bess found that comment surprisingly naïve. No one, no matter how cunning, was ever safe from all harm.

Flexing his fingers in the looser bandages, Julian Taverner wondered at the difference two days of the new ointment had made. His fingers were tender, but not so tight. His aching shoulder was much improved by Mistress Wilton’s mustard ointment. And the tisane his niece brought him several times a day eased his headache miraculously. He must think of a way to show his gratitude. They had traded harsh words the previous day, and he was sorry for that. Bess thought it best that Honoria kept her distance. But Julian saw no harm in enjoying a pretty face.

Not that Honoria’s devotion to him was without its problems. Julian liked Anneys — he found her crisp competence reassuring and she was comely despite her lined face — and he did not wish to antagonise her. But there it was. Honoria’s cheery visits inspired frowns of disapproval from Anneys. Then again, he did not know whether pursuit of Anneys would prove rewarding.

That morning Julian had found Anneys a disturbing presence. He had been haunted by painful memories and had been trying to push them aside with prayer when Anneys had arrived. Setting her trays of medicines down on his bedside table, Anneys had stood back and shaken her head. ‘You pray in such earnest this morning, Master Taverner.’

‘I would be away from that coughing.’

Anneys cocked her head, listened. ‘Mistress Catherine. She cannot help it.’

‘My mother had such a cough.’

Anneys sat down beside him. ‘And you do not like to remember her?’

‘She died of such a cough.’

‘Ah.’ Anneys shook out a linen cloth, draped it on the bed, began to arrange the medicines. ‘What of your wife? Is it true she was lost at sea?’

Sweet Heaven, how had she touched the ache so accurately? ‘My wife and my only child.’

‘You speak of it as if you still feel pain. Yet it must have happened long ago. They tell me you have been a corrodian of St Leonard’s for nineteen years.’

Some pain took longer to lessen. Yet it was true, they had died a few years before the first visitation of the plague. Julian turned away. He did not like this conversation.

‘I do not believe in remembering only the good, Master Taverner. God brought us suffering to cleanse us. We must not shrink from it.’

‘I have done more penance than you can imagine. And Laurence with me. Now I wish to be left in peace.’ Julian felt his eyes burning. Now look what her prying had done. He would embarrass himself with tears.

Anneys opened his shift at the shoulder, applied the warm mustard ointment. As she worked it into the stiff joint, she asked, ‘Penance? Both of you? For what sin?’

‘I would rather not speak of it.’

‘There was a strong bond between you and Master Warrene. Were you comrades-in-arms?’

‘Nay. Neither of us were for soldiering. We grew up side by side in Scarborough, went into business together.’

‘The tavern?’

Why must she ask so many questions? ‘No, Laurence was never a taverner. This is unfair, you know. You have told me nothing of your past.’

‘There is little to tell. I married, raised three children, I was widowed and offered my services here.’

‘Three children. Did you not wish to live with any of them?’

‘No.’ Anneys closed up his shift, helped him sit up so she might examine the bandage on his head wound. ‘Now I have told you of my life. I thought you were a taverner.’

‘I was.’

‘And yet you say you went into business with Master Warrene, a business that was not a tavern.’

‘You do not wish to go into detail, neither do I.’

‘Why is that, Master Taverner?’

He winced as she probed the wound. ‘Why do you not wish to tell me more of your life?’

‘There is little joy in the tale. And you? Why do you not wish to speak of the business?’

‘Because I lived to regret it and did great penance for it. I have told you how I worked among abandoned victims when the pestilence first came to the north.’

‘Ah, yes. I remember.’ She moved to his hands, completing her ministrations in silence.

For that Julian was truly grateful. Perhaps he did not like her looks so much. Honoria was far more comforting.

Lucie had gone out into the garden to work before opening the shop. Owen sat up above watching her, wondering what he might do to cheer her.

Kate knocked on the door. ‘Mistress Merchet begs a word with you, Captain.’

‘She is here?’

‘Below, Captain. Whatever it is, it is not good news.’

Owen found Bess down in the hall pacing, arms bent and pumping, hands clenched into fists, her eyes blazing and colour high.

‘They have accused Julian of setting the fire, have they?’ Owen asked when Bess turned towards him. He leaned against the doorjamb, arms folded across his chest.

Bess paused. ‘Who is spreading such an untruth?’

Owen pointed at his visitor. ‘’Tis you put the thought in my head, by your foul mood. Why else would you be so angry?’

‘Angry?’

‘That is how you appear to me.’

‘I was but thinking.’

Owen pushed himself off the wall and, taking Bess by the elbow, escorted her to the table set up beneath the south windows. ‘Come, sit down and tell me what thoughts make you pump the air.’

Bess sat down, clutching her hands before her. ‘Forgive me for intruding. I know it is a difficult time.’

Owen leaned across the table, slipped one hand under Bess’s and laid his other on top. He levelled his good eye at her.

Bess grinned down at her hands cradled in Owen’s. ‘If you meant to distract me, you have succeeded, you handsome rogue.’

‘Good. I want no eruptions in my hall, just quiet talk. What is troubling you?’

‘Bless you for asking. I need your advice. I’ve quite a tale to tell.’ Bess recounted her uncle’s description of the events surrounding the fire at St Leonard’s and described the wounds she had seen on the two friends.

‘It does not sound like an accident.’

Bess pounded her fist on the table with satisfaction, sat back. ‘No more than Walter de Hotter’s death. Indeed. Do you know what John Cooper said last night?’ She told Owen.

‘Rumours. You must pay them no heed. They will send you down the wrong path for certain.’

Bess threw up her hands. ‘Then how do I find the right path?’

‘Find out if anyone witnessed the accident, Bess. That is the only certain way to know the truth.’

‘Cuthbert has me watched at the spital. I am herded to my uncle’s bed. I cannot go elsewhere.’