Candace Robb - The Riddle Of St Leonard's

Thoresby’s face was pinched, his eyes sad. ‘I did not know it was so many,’ he said, his regret clear in his tone. ‘Still. I may save far more than that.’

Mayhap. But Owen would not leave Lucie at so perilous a time on such a fool’s errand. ‘Forgive me, but I am needed at home, Your Grace. And you need me to protect your interests in the city. The fear makes the crowds unpredictable. Think of the Lammas Fair.’

‘You know full well there will be no Lammas Fair this year. Which is yet another reason to use the stones I already own. I shall have no revenues to spare. You will go with me to Sherburne.’

‘Why? Of what use will I be to you there?’

‘You question my orders?’

‘This is a fool’s errand, Your Grace. And hardly the work of either your captain or your steward.’

Thoresby slammed his palms on the table, and rose, leaning across, his face close to Owen’s. He reeked of ambergris, rosemary, wine, and sweat: unusual for the archbishop, who had a peculiar fondness for bathing. ‘You shall obey me!’

Thunder did not intimidate Owen. ‘I cannot leave my wife and the shop for so long, Your Grace,’ he said quietly. ‘Not in a time of pestilence. Each day the apothecary is filled with customers. I must help Lucie as much as I can.’

‘What of her apprentice?’

‘He works hard, Your Grace. But there is much to do.’

‘You have managed well enough coming here.’

‘That is not the same as being away for a long while, Your Grace, with no opportunity to return and see how they fare.’

‘You are my man,’ Thoresby stated, knowing full well how Owen hated such a claim.

‘That can change, Your Grace.’

They glared at one another. The silence lengthened. Suddenly Thoresby rose, walked to the window, asked without turning to face Owen, ‘What do you know of the troubles at St Leonard’s?’

Who had won? Owen doubted he was the victor. But he meant to stand his ground on Sherburne, so how could he be the loser? ‘Walter de Hotter stabbed and strangled in his house, odd wounds on two victims of a fire, one of them dead. A golden chalice missing, a valuable missal cover, some goblets. I know only what all in York know.’

‘More thefts than that. Considerably more.’ A moment of silence. ‘My nephew will be called south as soon as the deaths from pestilence cease.’

Owen felt a shower of needle pricks across his blind eye. This did not bode well. ‘Aye, he is an important man in chancery and the Queen’s household. I should think he would have little time to devote to the hospital.’

‘But he will not wish to leave until harmony is restored at St Leonard’s.’

‘They say he has an eager investigator in his cellarer.’

Thoresby turned round, smirking. ‘Don Cuthbert? The man offends all to whom he speaks. He is not the man for the task.’

‘Don Erkenwald is more suitable, and he has been uneasy about Hotter’s death from the beginning.’

‘I prefer that my own man see to it.’ Thoresby held Owen’s gaze as he emphasised ‘my own man’.

‘It has naught to do with me.’

‘You wished to remain in York. I shall grant your request. On the condition that you assist my nephew in seeing harmony restored to St Leonard’s.’

‘It is not your right to arrange for my hire as a spy.’

‘No? Mistress Wilton might feel otherwise.’

Owen paused. Had Lucie spoken to him in private? Recently? ‘What do you mean?’

Thoresby resumed his seat, steepled his hands. The smirk still taunted Owen. ‘As I recall, Mistress Wilton hindered our efforts to discover the truth about my ward’s poisoning. How long ago that seems. And yet, even so, I intervened with the guild so that she might marry you and retain her standing as Nicholas Wilton’s widow.’

Relieved to hear that Lucie had not betrayed him, Owen was yet disturbed. ‘Surely my work the past six years has repaid you tenfold.’

Thoresby chuckled. ‘It is you who has been well paid, Archer.’ He closed his eyes, leaned his forehead on his steepled fingers. ‘Why do you not wish to assist my nephew?’

‘You know that is not the point, Your Grace.’

The head lifted. ‘No?’

False surprise. It was these moments that kept Owen from liking the archbishop. And yet Thoresby was godfather to both his children. ‘Sir Richard was a generous host when I was in Beverley. I have no quarrel with him.’

‘Good. He learned to trust you.’

Perhaps this was not a matter of Thoresby’s volunteering Owen, but of his communicating a request from another. ‘Sir Richard asked for me?’

‘He did.’

Damn the man. ‘I do not know how much time I might devote to such a task. With so many coming to the shop, there is little time during the day to prepare the physicks; we work in the evening and early morning. And there is the garden, and my responsibilities as your steward here. Besides all that, there is another matter on my conscience.’

‘Ah? And what is that?’

He told Thoresby about Tildy and Kate’s loss. ‘We promised we would send word to Tildy at Freythorpe if the sickness touched her family.’

Thoresby poured himself more wine. ‘Freythorpe is on my way to Sherburne. I shall call there, deliver the news, see my godchildren.’

Owen did not know whether to be grateful for Thoresby’s generosity or worried about the archbishop’s motivation. ‘Your Grace. It is a kind gesture. There are few willing to go abroad with such messages.’

Thoresby smiled. ‘You see? There is nothing to keep you from the hospital.’

Owen tasted bile. ‘Do you enjoy moving us all round like pawns?’

‘I confess it is one of the pleasures of age. There are far too few, Archer. You would not know that, but someday …’

‘You never meant to take me to Sherburne.’

Thoresby raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

Later, after they had shared a meal, Thoresby mentioned Honoria de Staines. ‘I warned Richard that St Leonard’s was not the place for such a woman.’

‘Why do you speak of her?’

‘Two of the missing goblets were hidden in her bedchamber. She claims they were gifts but will say no more. See what you might glean from her.’

‘Considering her reputation, the goblets were likely gifts from a lover.’

‘Then why does she not name him?’

Owen wondered the same thing. But he was not in a mood to agree with Thoresby. ‘Is it so difficult to imagine such a woman being loyal?’

Thoresby dismissed Owen’s suggestion with a sniff. ‘And while you are asking questions, find out why Don Cuthbert is her champion.’

Owen drained his cup. ‘A fool’s errand.’

‘Sherburne or St Leonard’s. Your choice, Archer.’

‘I shall surely deserve Heaven when my time comes.’ Owen pushed himself away from the table, rose.

‘Let us pray that your time is not so near you have no more opportunity for sin.’

Owen crossed himself. ‘Honoria de Staines is not the only subject of rumour. What of Sir Richard? Is he beyond suspicion?’

Thoresby suddenly took an interest in the bowl of fruit before him, spent a moment choosing a peach, sniffing it. ‘No one is beyond suspicion, Archer. But his asking for you is the action of a fool if he has aught to hide.’

Was that meant as praise? Owen studied the archbishop, bending to the task of quartering the peach with his dagger.

‘Is your nephew likely to play the fool?’

‘From time to time.’ Thoresby raised his eyes to Owen. ‘See you watch your back. I would not lose you on a fool’s errand.’ He smiled.

At table, Lucie silently stared down at her food as Owen recounted his interview with the archbishop. Thoresby was right, she was far more fearful of insulting him than Owen was. He was a powerful man, and though an archbishop, he was human enough to have a temper that he did not always bother to check. What might he do to them? And yet he could be so kind. But best of all was the love Owen had expressed through this refusal.