Candace Robb - The Riddle Of St Leonard's

In the infirmary, Ravenser found Julian Taverner sitting up in bed, frowning at the opposite wall. His white hair framed his face like a pale lion’s mane, though lopsided. Ravenser realised Julian’s hair must have been singed on one side and the burned ends removed. On his forehead and chin were angry patches of healing flesh and a thick dressing protected the wound on the back of his skull. His hands were awkward with bandages. But even so, Julian did not look like a victim. His dark eyes were fierce in his lined face.

‘What is amiss, Master Taverner?’ Ravenser asked quietly. ‘Do you have a complaint about the care you are receiving?’

The angry eyes moved up, softened. ‘Sir Richard.’ Julian leaned forward, nodded to the stool against the wall. ‘Pray, sit yourself down,’ he said in his loud voice. ‘God bless you for coming.’

Ravenser moved the stool closer to the bed.

‘Nay,’ Julian continued, ‘I cannot complain about the care.’

‘But you looked so angry.’

‘’Twas naught.’

‘Come now. Tell me what angers you.’

The elderly man hesitated. ‘I make much of naught.’

‘You paid a goodly sum to lodge here. You deserve to be heard.’

Julian’s eyes softened more. ‘It is Mistress Catherine’s cough. Do you hear it?’

Ravenser had indeed noticed the incessant coughing down the corridor. ‘It keeps you awake?’

‘I merely asked whether I or Mistress Catherine might be moved so that I might escape the sound. It was a simple request. And Don Cuthbert behaved as if I were demanding my meals were served on golden platters with dancing women for my entertainment.’

‘Ah.’ Ravenser did not wish to become embroiled in such mundane problems. ‘The hospital is very busy at the moment. You must forgive short tempers. I shall see what can be done.’

‘I would be most grateful, Sir Richard.’

Ravenser considered the man’s bandages, noted that they looked clean. ‘With all else you are satisfied?’

‘Aye.’

Thanks be to God his complaint was so slight. ‘I have thought much about Laurence since I learned of his death. I shall miss him.’

Julian averted his eyes. ‘Oh, aye. There’s none to replace Laurence.’

‘And to happen so soon after Matilda’s passing. You have suffered much sorrow of late.’

Julian said nothing.

‘I should be cheering you.’ But in faith, Ravenser could think of nothing jolly to mention.

The uneasy silence was broken by Julian. ‘I do have one other request, Sir Richard. My niece has proved to be considerate and efficient in this trying time. I should like to change my will. Might your secretary assist me?’

A will? So he had more than what he had paid for his corrody and donated to the hospital? Ravenser wondered whether St Leonard’s was remembered in the will. ‘I shall be happy to send Douglas to you. Do I know your niece?’

‘Bess Merchet. She and her husband run the York Tavern.’

Ravenser closed his eyes to hide his dismay. Bess Merchet. He had forgotten. A woman with her nose in everything in the city.

‘It was my niece who convinced Cuthbert and Erkenwald to examine Laurence before he was buried. She wished them to see the wound on the back of his head. I believe that is what killed him, not the fire.’

Cuthbert had not mentioned Bess Merchet. ‘I trust that Mistress Merchet will not speak of the wounds to anyone.’

Julian’s head jerked up. ‘You think she does not understand the need for silence during an investigation? She is a canny woman, Sir Richard.’

‘Do you have any idea who might have attacked you?’

Julian studied Ravenser’s face. ‘It happened too quickly.’

‘Ah. Of course.’ Ravenser paused, trying to think of a more neutral subject. He must not forget the will. ‘I was thinking about our chess games. A clever strategist, Laurence. And yet cautious. I remember that riddle he posed me one night …’

Julian’s brows met in a bushy frown. ‘Riddle?’

‘“How might one unwittingly commit a sin? If none suffer but the guilty, has a wrong been done?” You dragged him away saying he would make a fool of himself with riddles.’

Julian’s eyes latched on to Ravenser’s with an intensity the latter found uncomfortable.

‘You do remember?’

Julian nodded slowly. ‘Did you- Have you spoken of that to any here in the hospital?’

He thought him a chattering jay like his niece? ‘I had no occasion to. But should I not talk of it?’

Julian leaned back, pressed his bandaged hands to his forehead. ‘’Tis naught, Sir Richard.’

A soft noise in the doorway made Ravenser turn round. A tall, comely woman appeared, carrying a tray of unguents and bandages. ‘God be with you, sir,’ she said, her voice low. Though she wore the dark, plain gown and starched wimple of a lay sister, she commanded attention. Ravenser searched his memory. Anneys. Yes. The widow.

‘Am I in the way?’ Ravenser asked.

‘Forgive me, sir. It is time Master Taverner’s bandages were changed.’

‘Where is Honoria?’ Julian asked. ‘I have not seen her in more than a day.’

Anneys dropped her head, as if uncertain what to say.

‘She is detained by other matters,’ Ravenser said.

Anneys looked grateful. Ravenser instructed her to send for Douglas when Julian was ready to see him, then took his leave.

Outside, the morning had turned misty. Ravenser lifted his face to the heavens and let them freshen him. A bell tolled somewhere in the city. Ravenser bowed his head, crossed himself and prayed for another dead of the pestilence. He caught himself. One might die from other causes, even in times of pestilence. Look at Laurence de Warrene.

He made his way slowly through the yard, noting the poorly patched areas in the surrounding wall, dangerous pits in the mud of the yard. In one, a rat swam happily. Ravenser was appalled by how shabby his hospital had become. Their financial situation was not so dire as this.

Coppery hair beneath a starched, beribboned cap caught his eye. He recognised Bess Merchet, chatting with one of the lay sisters. She must be here to see her uncle. He wondered what news she shared with the woman.

‘Mistress Merchet!’ he called in a friendly voice as he approached. ‘God be with you both.’

The sister dropped her eyes and murmured a greeting.

Bess kept her gaze steady. ‘God go with you, Sir Richard. I should like to speak with you by and by.’

Ravenser spread his hands. ‘Will this do?’

‘Oh, not today. Later. And in a less public place.’ Bess glanced at the other woman. ‘’Tis not for distrust of you, but there are too many about.’

Complaints about her uncle’s care, Ravenser guessed. He would rather not have any such grievances aired in public. ‘Come to my house when you wish to talk.’ He blessed the two women and took his way homeward, hoping that a cool cloth on his forehead might stave off the headache that had not entirely diminished. Clearly he could not count on rest to restore his health.

He was almost to the door when Don Cuthbert stepped into his path. ‘Sir Richard, I beg a word.’

A convenient meeting. ‘I understand Julian Taverner requested to be moved.’

Cuthbert coloured, rose on his toes. ‘He summoned you?’

‘No, I asked what had discomfited him. Is his request impossible to grant?’

‘The infirmary is crowded, Sir Richard, and threatens to become even more so.’

‘Then explain it to him with courtesy, Cuthbert.’

‘Perhaps that will not be necessary. I have thought of a solution that might please everyone — he will escape the noise, the other lay sisters will stop complaining that Honoria and Anneys devote too much time to him, and none of the other patients need be disturbed.’